


Compulsion

by sharim28



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Did I mention some smut?, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Plot With Porn, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut, Smut smut and more smut, Tropes, but there is DEFINITELY smut in this fic nellie, nellie please note this fic contains smut, okay so there is plot, quite a lot of plot apparently, well porn with trope really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2020-07-27 15:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 40,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20048035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharim28/pseuds/sharim28
Summary: When a mission goes wrong, Sam and Jack suffer the after effects of an unusual connection between them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [sharim28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharim28/pseuds/sharim28) in the [Inseparable](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Inseparable) collection. 

> Once upon a time, a long time ago, Amara said she wanted an 'inseparable' type of fic. So this is all, entirely, completely her fault. And maybe Sarah_M's for encouraging me. Thank you also to Sarah_M for the beta. She truly is a unicorn xx 
> 
> I’ll be blunt; this fic really is about smut. With plot (well, trope really). But, you know, smut is the goal. Because why not. Anyway, you have been warned. 
> 
> Also, just in case you missed it in the copious tags, there may be some smut.
> 
> Buckle up, boys and girls, and brace yourselves. You have been warned.
> 
> PS - This fic was inspired by the Inseparable challenge created by Nellie, but it didn't really fit with any of the existing prompts so I just made my own prompt to suit; hope that's okay and not too lame!!

## Prologue

Resting her hands on the bench, Sam slowly straightens her spine, working out the kinks from being hunched over for too long. There’s an empty silence around her; the kind that settles over the base in the very early hours of the morning when most of the personnel are off-world or in bed.

She stretches her arms above her head, stifling a yawn. Bed. That’s where she should be. But she just has one more thing-

"Whatcha doin?” 

She starts slightly, surprised; she didn’t hear him come into the lab, didn’t expect his voice so close to her ear. And she certainly doesn’t expect his hands to settle on her hips, holding her steady.

“Sir?”

“You’re up late, Carter.”

His voice is so close she can feel his breath washing against her skin. His hands are still on her hips, heavy and warm and intimate.

“I got caught up,” she says, her voice low and breathy in response.

“You work too hard,” he murmurs, drawing her closer still with his hands so she can feel the vibration of his voice against her back. “You need to take it easy, Carter.” He’s nuzzling her neck as he speaks, lips brushing against her skin.

Her heart is tripping in her chest, breath catching in her throat. 

“Colonel?”

“It’s okay,” he soothes, fingers working their way under her shirt and straying across her hips towards her belly. “I can help you relax.”

Her legs feel weak, her mind confused and sluggish under the onslaught of his lips as he nips at the base of her neck. Her hand creeps up of its own volition, curling around the back of his neck, and her fingers running through his hair as she holds his head against her; he’s licking where he nipped, soothing the stinging skin.

“What… what are you doing, sir?”

He tugs her earlobe between his teeth, distracting her while his fingers pop the button on her BDUs.

“Helping you relax.” The words are hot and damp against her ear.

This is anything but relaxing, she thinks. There’s a rush of liquid heat between her legs.

She’s frozen; his hand is slipping down the front of her pants while the other skims up her side, brushing against the curve of her breast. Her breasts feel swollen and heavy with her arousal, nipples scratching against the fabric of her bra; she’s waiting for his hands to cup their weight.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” The word is little more than a moan, breathless and wanton and desperate.

His fingers delve in, slipping between her slick folds. Her hips buck against him as he brushes over her throbbing bundle of nerves, aching for more. He flicks it again, and lightning sweeps through her; her legs want to give way and she wraps desperate fingers around his wrist to try and hold herself up.

“Want me to stop?” he asks again.

“Oh God, no,” she moans as he teases the bud again. “No. Don’t stop.” She’s so wet and so worked up she wants to grind herself against his hand.

“Relaxed yet?”

Why does he keep talking to her, she wonders, pressing against his hand as he circles in just the right spot. Her hips are rocking now, and he’s thrusting the evidence of his own arousal against her backside. The fingers still in his hair clutch at him, trying to draw him closer, her lips searching for his, but he stays out of reach and instead drags his mouth down her neck.

When his hand cups her breast under her shirt—the rough skin of his palms scraping against her aching nipples—a strangled sound escapes her. Who is she, this crazed woman, so wanton in his arms? 

A finger slips inside her, and she loses all sense of control. The pressure of his fingers, the thrusting against her back, the way he’s pulling almost roughly at a nipple... She grinds against him shamelessly, urging his fingers on, trying to change the angle so she can feel the hard length of him between her thighs. But his hold on her is unforgiving, and his fingers are unrelenting. His teeth close over the cords of her neck and the pressure builds and builds.

“Oh,” she gasps, bucking beneath his hands.

And then she explodes in his arms, legs giving way, and she’s tumbling over herself and flying with the stars before she slams painfully into reality.

All around her there are voices; a cacophony of alarms and yelling and chaos and she is pain and confusion and still trying to come back to earth with the remnants of her orgasm throbbing between her legs.

“Sam! Sam! Open your eyes, Sam, I need you to open your eyes!”

Why is Janet here? Where is she? What’s going on?

“Come on, Sam, I need you to open your eyes.”

“Ma’am, we’ve got Colonel O’Neill back!”

“Come on Sam, open your eyes. What’s his heart rate doing?”

“Steady on 60, BP is holding ninety over fifty. He’s responding to pain and voice, ma’am.”

“Come on, Sam. That’s it, open your eyes!”

Janet’s face swims into view over her head, the bright lights of the infirmary glaring down overhead.

“Janet?” she whispers. Her head is pounding in time to her racing heart beat.

“Welcome back, Sam,” Janet says with a smile; Sam can hear the utter relief on her voice.

“What happened?” Every whisper sends stabs of pain behind her eyes and deep into the back of her head.

“We don’t know. Someone found you in your lab, passed out on the ground. What do you remember?”

She remembers his hands, hot and persistent and so very, very intimate. The feel of his teeth sinking into her neck. The way she came apart in his arms.

“Nothing,” she says. “I don’t remember what happened.”

## Chapter One

_ 72 Hours Earlier _

She wakes up slowly, the last honeyed fingers of warm light and soft dreams releasing her gently. The first thing she notices is that she’s uncomfortable, her left arm numb and aching from the position she’s lying in. When she moves her arm, she realizes that where she’s been sleeping is tight, cramped and uncomfortable, and she’s sharing that space with someone else.

Sam opens her eyes and tries to get her bearings. Whoever she’s been asleep next to starts moving as well. 

“Carter?” It’s a familiar voice, thick with the fog of sleep.

“Colonel?”

She sits up and looks around, trying hard to work out what’s going on. She’s sitting in something vaguely familiar, pressed tight against Colonel O’Neill in the cramped space.

A sarcophagus, she realizes dimly, taking in the coffin-like shape and gaudy gold trim. Why are they in a sarcophagus?

“Colonel O’Neill, Major Carter, are you okay?” a female voice asks.

Several familiar personnel appear around them looking concerned; Teal’c is among them, and Sam knows him well enough to recognise the worry disguised in his features. 

She feels hazy, as though Janet’s pumped her full of the good pain medications again.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

Beside her, she can feel Colonel O’Neill sitting up; he’s pressed close to her side in the confines of the sarcophagus.

“Carter, are you okay?” he asks. Between them, where no one can see, she realizes his hand is holding hers almost desperately. A fleeting memory of pain and terror brushes against her, and she grips his fingers back tightly.

“I think so,” she says. “You, sir?” 

“I’m good.”

“Come on Major Carter, let’s get you out of there,” a kind voice says. Moreno, Sam thinks sluggishly. Lucy Moreno from SG-12.

Gentle hands — Teal’c’s, she realizes — reach in to help steady her as she rises to her feet and then climbs out of the sarcophagus. Away from the golden light she feels cold and shivery, bereft of something she can’t quite place. In all her years at the SGC, Sam’s never been inside a sarcophagus before, and never had a taste of the drugging sweetness that its light emits.

“What happened?” she asks again, shaking her head to try and clear it.

“I believe High Lord Janeel was attempting to obtain information from yourself and Colonel O’Neill,” Teal’c says.

Again, those flashes of pain and terror, and she finds herself looking over instinctively to where Colonel O’Neill has been helped out of the sarcophagus by Captain Moreno. 

“He killed us,” she realizes, raising a hand to her throat. The skin is smooth and soft. There’s a hole in the front of her BDU’s, singed and brittle, where the pain stick was jammed into her again and again. She slips her fingers through the deficit in the fabric, finding the skin below intact and pain-free.

“What’s the situation now?” Colonel O’Neill asks.

She knows him well enough to recognize the hint of shock on his voice, the slight hollowness that tells her he is as stunned and confused as she is. She straightens her shoulders, hands looking for a weapon that isn’t there as her own training kicks in and she forces herself to pay attention to the world around her.

“Janeel’s dead,” Daniel says. Of them all, Sam thinks, he looks the worst, propped up against a pillar, blood running down his face. There’s a terror in his eyes that reminds her of the Daniel in the early days, when violence and death weren’t an everyday part of his life.

There’s a memory recall device on the side of Daniel’s temple, and Sam reaches over to gently pull it free. She’s surprised when moments later, Daniel reaches up to where she’s crouched over him and touches her temple before holding his hand out and revealing the small metal disk resting in the palm of his hand. Colonel O’Neill, seeming to realize what it means, reaches up and pulls his own device free. Sam takes the device from Daniel, and puts them in the chest pocket of her BDUs, adding the Colonel’s when he passes it over seconds later.

“Let’s get out of here,” Reynolds says, and even though she’s confused and disoriented, Sam thinks that’s a good idea.

In her pocket, the memory recall devices feel warm. She wonders what secrets the devices gave away to Janeel before they were placed in the sarcophagus.

* * *

It’s no surprise that Sam and the Colonel pass their post-mission physicals with flying colours. To be honest, Sam has never felt better physically; the ever present back ache from too many hours in front of a computer is missing, and despite the various cuts and burns to her uniform, there’s not a mark on her physically. She still feels that faint buzzing sensation crawling over her skin, and the ongoing nagging feeling that something is missing, but she puts those down to the after-effects of the sarcophagus and the fogginess of her memory.

Her memories are still few and far between, and that worries her. Judging by the perplexed expression on the Colonel’s face, he’s in the same boat. 

She remembers gating to the planet. The peaceful walk through the forest. The familiar scenes of excitement and panic induced by their arrival at the local village. Vague recollections of Jaffa — but not Jaffa? — and then those flashes of pain and terror, and nothing until she woke up in the sarcophagus beside the Colonel. 

Eventually the briefing room fills up as Janet and her team clear the members of SG-3 and SG-12, and everyone bar Daniel — who is still being patched up in the infirmary — is present. 

“Let’s begin,” General Hammond says.

Teal’c has to recount their mission because, like her, Colonel O’Neill remembers very little.

P2S-491 was a world long-abandoned by the Goa’uld. Like other abandoned worlds they’ve encountered, the Goa’uld power structure was adopted by the remaining humans first as a way of avoiding Goa’uld return, and then later as a means to maintain their own power over their subjects. Janeel and his “Jaffa” were terrified that SG-1 was either going to bring the Goa’uld back, or worse, expose their deception to the local population.

And so, SG-1 was tortured visciously for information they didn’t possess, Teal’c managing to escape to raise the alarm. By the time SG-3 and SG-12 arrived for rescue, Sam and the Colonel were dead and Daniel in the midst of being tortured, likely to the death as well.

“We weren’t sure how long… if there was a time limit…” Colonel Reynolds falters, looking anxiously between Colonel O’Neill and Sam. “We decided to put both of you in the sarcophagus together, and save time in case there were more pseudo-Jaffa in the building.” 

“What about the memory recall devices?” Sam asks when Teal’c’s story winds to a close.

“Janeel was displaying images from Daniel Jackson’s memory on a projection,” Teal’c fills in. “I believe both yourself and Colonel O’Neill must have undergone similar treatment.”

“How is Doctor Jackson?” General Hammond asks Janet who is sitting quietly at the far end of the briefing room. 

A concussion, strained shoulder, multiple burns, several cracked ribs and a fractured fibula will keep Daniel out of the mission roster for several weeks. Which means SG-1 will have downtime until they find a replacement or a mission the General feels they can do as a three man team. 

“I’m still concerned about the fact that both Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter have very limited recollection of their time on P2S-491,” Janet says. “I can’t find any unusual results on the investigations we’ve run so far, and nothing from the history other than their time in the sarcophagus could account for it.”

“Could those recall devices have futzed with our memory?” the Colonel asks.

“They’re not designed to interfere with memories, just bring them to the surface,” Sam disagrees.

“Doctor Jackson has full recollection of his time on the planet, and the device was also used on him. The only point of difference that we can see is the sarcophagus.”

“I’ve been in one of those things before and it didn’t mess with my memory,” the Colonel points out.

“Indeed,” Teal’c agrees. “I have seen many humans and Goa’uld alike utilize the sarcophagus without affecting their memories.”

“We did die,” Sam feels obliged to remind everyone, even though the words feel strange on her tongue. “Maybe we were just… you know… a bit of a delay before using the sarcophagus?”

“It is possible,” Teal’c concedes. “However Daniel Jackson does not believe much time had passed.”

Sam looks over at the Colonel who’s determinedly looking at Hammond.

“I feel great though,” he says into the silence around the briefing room.

* * *

“Anything?” Sam asks Janet, walking up to where the doctor is studying images on a computer screen.

“I can’t see anything jumping out at me,” Janet admits, scrolling through the multiple MRI images. “However, I could be missing something subtle. I’ll wait until the formal report is available, but there’s nothing to explain the amnesia in both of you, or why the amnesia covers almost exactly the same period of time.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “It’s strange.”

“General Hammond wants you and the Colonel to stay on base until we have some answers, just to make sure nothing declares itself over the next few days.”

It’s not like Sam wasn’t expecting the words, but it’s still frustrating. “I better call Pete,” she sighs.

“Plans?”

“Only dinner and a movie, nothing important.”

Janet grimaces sympathetically. “Sorry, Sam.”

“It’s okay, Janet, an early night probably isn’t a bad idea.”

* * *

Despite her best intentions, it’s late by the time Sam sits back at her workbench and stretches her neck, rolling her aching shoulders to try and work out the kinks. Looking at her watch she winces - it’s well past midnight, and much too late to head home now that she’s been cleared. Looks like another night on base is inevitable. 

The ache behind her eyes that she’s been ignoring in favour of focusing on the memory recall device pulled apart in front of her has increased to a fierce pounding, and the grittiness in her eyes tells her it’s definitely time to stop working. Maybe she should mention the headache to Janet, she thinks, rubbing at her temples, but she’s been confined to base for three days already and the last thing she wants now is for Janet to start a fresh round of investigations into non-specific symptoms.

She digs around in a drawer and finds some Advil, swallowing them with a mouthful of the tepid water sitting on the corner of her workbench. With a sigh, she rests her head on her arms for a few minutes, waiting for the Advil to kick in before she drags herself to bed.

It’s several hours before she’s found unconscious on the floor of the lab.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm totally blown away by how excited you are about my indulgence fic!! 
> 
> After a very insightful comment, I've also updated the tags appropriately. My bad for missing a key point! ;) 
> 
> Also thank to Sarah_M again for the beta xx

The headache is still hammering behind her eyes, but whatever Janet’s given her has taken the edge off it. In the hours it’s taken for it to ease, the infirmary has quietened down too; the chaos and panic to which Sam awoke is now a distant memory.

She lies back on her pillow, eyes closed, savouring the relative quiet around her; the noise exacerbates the headache and all she wants is some more relief.

Relief. 

Heat flushes over her cheeks as she remembers the relief in her dreams before she was literally shocked back to life; there’s still a residual feeling of awareness running through her, of satisfaction and satiation, but with something lacking. Her body must be caught between dreams and reality she muses. 

Visions of her CO driving her wild with his fingers is definitely not what she thought she’d see while she was dying. 

Through the thin curtain between them she can hear him moving, and she tries desperately to squash the thoughts and images still racing through her mind. Seconds later the curtain is pulled back to reveal the Colonel standing in the space between their beds, looking as ragged as she feels.

“You okay?” he asks, not waiting for permission but shuffling over to collapse on the small stool beside her bed that Daniel had vacated not long ago.

“Yeah,” she says, looking at him. “Are you okay, sir?”

“I’ve been better.” He rubs at his face and then leans against her bed. “What the hell happened, Carter?”

“I have no idea,” she says honestly. “The last thing I remember is being in my lab. I was getting ready to go to bed. And then I woke up here.” She’s been racking her brains, and — vivid dreams aside — she can’t think of anything that would account for her losing consciousness and needing a defibrillator. 

“How about you, sir?”

“I went home. Had a beer, got in bed, and then woke up here feeling like a horse kicked me in the chest and that I’d had a bottle of scotch instead of a single beer.”

“Headache?” she asks sympathetically.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

He sighs again and rests his head in his hands, elbows bracketed on her bed. “How long do you think Fraiser’s gonna make us stay on base this time?”

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know, but probably until she’s found some answers.”

“More tests?”

“More tests,” Sam agrees quietly.

He reaches over and pats Sam’s arm briefly, a simple reassurance, before pushing up and walking slowly back to his own infirmary bed.

Where he touched her, her skin betrays her with a slight tingle. Since he found out about her seeing Pete he’s relaxed around her, and is more prone to casually touching her than he has been in years; she’s ashamed to admit she’s been enjoying the physical contact. A reassuring pat to her arm, a nudge with his shoulder, even a light hand on the small of her back has become commonplace in the last few weeks, as though Pete is a buffer that makes it okay for him to not worry so much about propriety and appearances. He’s always been tactile, and she’d missed the easy contact in the last few years after things got complicated between them.

Her arm’s still tingling; she looks down at it, half expecting to see something there, but there’s nothing other than the memory of his touch both here and in her dreams.

Sighing, Sam closes her eyes and tries to rest; at least her headache has eased.

* * *

It starts insidiously; the worsening headaches, the shortening of her temper, the gradual sense of anxiety building. She doesn’t realize something is wrong until she wakes up in the infirmary again four days later.

“What’s going on?” she asks, rubbing tiredly at her head.

Janet huffs with frustration. “I’m not sure. It’s not making any sense.”

“What happened this time?”

“Colonel O’Neill collapsed in the gym this morning.”

“So why am I here?”

Janet meets her gaze steadily. “I had a hunch when the Colonel was brought to the infirmary, so we sent a team to check on you, and they couldn’t wake you up. Nothing we did could wake you.”

She considers the words. “So why am I awake now?”

“I don’t know,” Janet says. “But the Colonel woke up a few minutes before you did.”

Sam looks to her left, where O’Neill is lying in a bed looking pale and irritated. He shrugs at her.

“We didn’t almost die this time?” Sam asks.

“No. Both of you were stable, just unconscious.”

There’s a connection she’s struggling to make, something it looks like Janet suspects but is reluctant to voice. “You’re right,” Sam says. “It’s not making any sense.”

“Unless....” 

“Unless what, Janet?”

“Something happened to the two of you on P2S-491. Whatever it is, the fact that it’s affecting you both isn’t what’s strange. What’s strange is that all of these things are happening at the same time with exactly the same symptoms in both of you. Normal human physiology doesn’t work that way; disease progression and symptoms are varied between individuals. This synchronisation between the two of you suggests some sort of external influence that’s still acting on you both.”

“What are you saying, Doc?” the Colonel asks.

“I don’t know,” Janet admits, frustrated. “I’ve suggested to General Hammond we contact the Tok’ra.”

“Why would you do that?” the Colonel sounds annoyed.

“They have more knowledge and expertise with both the sarcophagus and the memory recall devices than we do,” Janet explains.

“What about sending a team back through the gate to see if they can find something?”

“I already discussed it with General Hammond, and he feels the safer option is to try the Tok’ra first, rather than risking further conflict with the people of P2S-491.”

“So what do we do now?” Sam asks.

“I can’t let you off the base like this, Sam, and General Hammond has agreed. Until we have more of an idea about what’s going on with the two of you, we’re confining you to the base. I’m going to suggest you make sure there’s always someone around to check on you, and I’d like you both to sleep in the infirmary overnight so we can monitor your vital signs.”

Sam closes her eyes and rubs at her head while the Colonel tries to argue with Janet. The dull, throbbing headache that’s been her companion for the last few days is barely there, with only the slightest hint that it might return.

* * *

“More Advil?” Fraiser asks, frowning at the clipboard in her hands. 

“Why do you say it like that?” Jack asks, affronted. 

“It’s not like you to ask for it, Colonel, let alone as regularly as you have been.”

“You’re making me sound like I have a problem.”

Fraiser lowers the clipboard, pinning Jack with her unflinching gaze. “Tell me about this headache.”

“It’s a headache,” Jack shrugs. “Behind my eyes. I think I need to get my eyes checked.”

“Your eyes are fine,” Fraiser says says. “How long has this been going on for?”

Jack thinks about it. “Probably since P2S-491,” he realizes. “It was bad the night I passed out at home. I had Advil then too.”

“So you’ve had a headache for two weeks and haven’t anything to me about it?”

“Yes I have,” Jack disagrees. “Didn’t I?”

“No.”

“I mentioned it when I asked for Advil.”

“So you mentioned it tonight?” Fraiser sighs, looking annoyed. “Do you have the headache when you wake up?”

“Not enough that I worry about it.”

“But you notice it.”

Jack shrugs. “Only a little.”

“How about during the day?”

“Some days it’s worse than others, but it’s worse in the evenings. Do you need to ask so many questions about this?”

“When you have Advil does it improve?” Fraiser persists, ignoring his grouching.

“I don’t always have Advil. It’s usually better or almost gone by the morning.”

“But it’s never really gone,” Fraiser says thoughtfully.

“You’re not going to scan me again, are you?”

“No, not for the moment.”

Jack hesitates, legs jiggling on the side of the bed. “So can I have some Advil?”

“I wouldn’t mind some of that either, please Janet,” Carter says, walking into the infirmary. She’s wearing the snug tank top and soft pajama bottoms she’s been sleeping in for the last few nights, and Jack has to forcibly pull his eyes away from her and focus on the petite doctor in front of him.

“You have a headache too?” Fraiser asks sharply, her head swivelling around to Carter so fast Jack’s worried it might snap off.

“Splitting,” Carter agrees, dropping onto her allocated bed and kicking off her boots. 

“How long has yours been going for?” Fraiser demands.

Carter shrugs. “On and off, it’s not there all the time.”

“Careful,” Jack cautions. “She’s going to ask you a million questions now.”

“What I don’t understand is how both of you have been suffering with a headache for the last two weeks, and neither of you has bothered to tell me about it,” Fraiser huffs.

“I’m sure I’ve mentioned it,” Carter says. “Haven’t I?”

Fraiser snaps her clipboard shut with a frustrated sigh. “Right. Are there  _ any  _ other symptoms that I should know about, no matter how insignificant?”

“Not that I can think of,” Jack says. Other than the headache and feeling tired, he feels fine.

“So there’s nothing else unusual happening with either of you?”

Jack shoots a quick glance at Carter, trying to read her face, but she’s studiously looking at the doctor with a bland expression which could mean almost anything. Maybe he should mention the dreams, he thinks, but then Fraiser will want him to talk about what’s happening in the dreams and he really doesn’t feel like discussing his suddenly out of control imagination with her, let alone with Carter in the room.

“No,” he says finally.

“Are you sure, Colonel?”

He shrugs. He can tell she doesn’t quite believe him, but thankfully she lets him off the hook and stops pressing. 

“How about you, Sam?”

Carter shoots him a furtive look, before studying the floor beneath her now bare feet. 

“I’ve been dreaming a lot,” she admits. “But that could mean anything.”

Jack’s heart skips a beat, his eyes flicking back to Carter who’s now deliberately not looking at either of them.

“What sort of dreams?”

“Vivid dreams,” Carter says. “Very vivid.”

“What about you, Colonel?” 

“I dream,” he agrees after a pause. Carter flicks him a sharp glance; he catches it and holds it. When her cheeks turn pink and she ducks her gaze while chewing on her lip, he realizes they have a problem. 

Possibly a very big problem, he thinks to himself as Fraiser looks from one to the other, frowning thoughtfully.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only short, to get some of the plotty stuff out of the way before the fun stuff starts :D
> 
> Thanks again to Sarah for being the fabulous unicorn mage rainbow that she is :<3
> 
> Enjoy xx

A protracted silence hangs around the briefing room after Fraiser finishes her explanation. Hammond’s expression is somewhere between disbelief and suspicion, as though he’s not sure Fraiser isn’t orchestrating one of the most convoluted practical jokes ever.

“Run that by me again,” he says eventually. “Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter are somehow  _ linked _ with each other, and if they get too far apart, or spend too much time separated from each other, it causes them to become unwell?”

Yeah, Jack doesn’t really blame the man for sounding dubious about the whole situation.

“It would appear that way, sir,” Fraiser says slowly, as though she can’t believe she’s come up with this theory, let alone voicing it.

“I see.”

Hammond looks at Jack, and then over to Carter who’s looking uncomfortable. Hammond looks back at Jack, and for some reason it feels almost as though Hammond is accusing him of setting this whole thing up.

“Hey,” Jack says, “I don’t know how this happened.”

Hammond rubs at his head tiredly, as though he has a headache building. Jack winces in sympathy; it’s only the last two days that the headache has mostly subsided after spending an awful lot of time in close company with his Major. To be honest, he’s still not entirely sure he buys into Fraiser’s theory completely, but Carter seems convinced. And the lack of headache and detailed dreams when they spend more time together has given that theory some support. 

“And we have no idea what’s caused this ‘link’,” Hammond clarifies.

“We suspect it may be the sarcophagus,” Fraiser supplies, but Jack’s not really sure how helpful that is.

“I have never heard of two people being revived at once in a sarcophagus,” Teal’c offers.

“But you could argue that when a Goa’uld uses the sarcophagus, two distinct entities are in there at once. We’ve previously seen that if a host is separated from a Goa’uld, there is no lasting physical link between them that impacts on the health of the ex-host,” Fraiser puts forward.

This sort of to-ing and fro-ing has been going on for two days now, and Jack’s tired of it.

“Any word from the Tok’ra yet?” he asks, but he’s pretty sure he knows the answer because Hammond would have told them as soon as there was word.

“Not yet,” Hammond shakes his head.

“So to summarise,” Jack says after a pause, before Fraiser and Carter can get carried away with the details of their theory again. “Carter and I need to stay close together. If we don’t, the headaches start, and if we ignore those, things get a little more serious.”

Hammond sighs again. “And we have no idea how long these symptoms will last for, or what we need to do to break this link.”

“No, sir,” Jack agrees. 

“This puts the two of you in rather a delicate situation,” Hammond points out. “I don’t need to tell either of you about the need to maintain professional relationships.”

To anyone else, the words would sound like a warning, but Jack knows Hammond. And he knows that Hammond understands what both he and Carter have pushed aside, in the interests of professional relationships and duty. So instead, to Jack, the words sound more resigned than anything else.

“Major Carter and Colonel O’Neill have been staying in the infirmary,” Fraiser interjects. “They’ve been observed regularly overnight by my staff, and I’ll keep them there until we have more information about the effects of this link.”

Jack sighs; all he wants is his own bed, a beer and some hockey. And not necessarily in that order.

“Okay, people. Let me know when you have any further information. Dismissed.”

* * *

Because she hates the unknown of what’s happening to her and the Colonel, Sam tries to quantify it. The Colonel becomes a reluctant participant in her mini-experiment: testing to see the boundaries of the contact they require in order to stave off the inevitable headaches that build when they separate.

They learn that physical contact - skin against skin - is the most effective at alleviating the headaches. They discover they can go for several hours in different areas of the base at a time, as long as they had good contact before and then find each other as soon as the headaches start. They work out that the closer they are to each other physically, the longer they can spend apart without the need to be in each others company or have physical contact.

They also realize that they now have an unerring sense of where the other is; when the headaches start, they inevitably know who will find who, and where to look.

“Some sort of telepathy?” Janet asks, when Sam relays some of her observations to her. 

“I don’t think so,” Sam says, shaking her head. “I can’t read his mind. I certainly hope he can’t read mine.” 

“And we still don’t have any response from the Tok’ra?”

“It’s difficult, now that they’re underground. I was hoping Dad would have stopped by already.”

Janet nods sympathetically and picks up a sandwich. “I don’t think you need to stay in the infirmary overnight anymore. It’s been almost three weeks since the last time you had problems, and we seem to have identified the trigger and how to minimise it.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Sam says. “No offense, but the infirmary is not a good place to get any rest.”

“No, it’s not,” Janet agrees. “You’ll both still have to stay on base.”

Sam sighs. “God, I just want to go home.”

“I know, Sam,” Janet says gently. “But right now, we still have no idea why this is happening or what’s caused it. Until we know how to fix this, we can’t risk the two of you going off-base, let alone to separate homes.”

“We’ve been stuck in here for almost a month now,” Sam says.

“How’s that impacting on things with Pete?” Janet asks.

Sam shrugs. “He’s not happy about the fact that I’m confined to the base, and he’s even more unhappy about me not being able to tell him why.”

“So…?”

Sam shrugs. “It seems like an awful lot of effort right now to keep him happy, and to be honest, I’m not sure I’m committed enough to keep working on it.”

Janet raises an eyebrow. “So things aren’t working out?”

“It’s not that they’re not working,” Sam says slowly. “It’s just… it’s been a month and I’m more frustrated with the effort of having to maintain communication with him, rather than being upset because I haven’t seen him. What does that say about the relationship?”

“Before this happened, you told me you were enjoying things with Pete.”

“I was,” Sam agrees. “But I think spending all this time apart has made it pretty obvious that while things were enjoyable, I don’t think they’ll be anything other than that.”

“So what are you going to do?” 

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right to expect Pete to hang around and wait for something that’s probably not going anywhere. Particularly not when I don’t know how long it will take before things are back to normal.”

“Sounds like you already know what you’re going to do,” Janet observes.

“Yeah,” Sam sighs. “I think I do.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lengthy delay! A scene in this needed a bit of a rewrite, and unfortunately (fortunately?) family vacation interrupted my writing time! But I'm back now, and here is the next part of the indulgence.
> 
> Thank you once again to Sarah_M for the awesome beta. And thanks to my very amazing group of friends who can answer panicky-flaily questions about Americanism's and very random topics at very random times.

_ The air is thick with steam; she can smell the heady scent of his aftershave on the billowing clouds long before she rounds the corner and sees him. There’s a towel wrapped around his hips, slung low, leaving the broad expanse of his chest and back bare for the steam to cover him with a fine layer of moisture that glistens a little under the lighting. _

_ Her hands itch to touch the smooth skin. She wants him. Here. Now. Always. _

_ Arousal rolls through her, hot and liquid and she stalks closer to him, breathing in his scent. When she slams the locker door shut beside him he startles, the black tee shirt in his hands forgotten as he turns to look at her. _

_ “Carter!” he says, surprised. “I didn’t see you there.” _

_ He lifts the tee again, ready to put it on. She reaches out a hand and rests it on his forearm; beneath her fingers his skin is hot and she can feel the muscles flexing beneath her touch. _

_ “Carter?” _

_ She runs her hand slowly up his arm, enjoying the way the hair scrapes against her palm and he doesn’t pull away. When her fingers slide over his shoulder she pauses, and then looks up at him, smiling. _

_ “What are you doing?” he asks, voice rough. _

_ She pulls on his shoulder with her hand, tugging him towards her as she leans back against the cold metal of the lockers behind her. He follows easily, cotton shirt fluttering to the ground between them, bracing himself on the lockers with his forearm. _

_ He’s so close now she can almost feel his warmth against her. Her breasts, heavy and free beneath the cut off tank top, feel like they are straining towards him, nipples aching against the soft fabric brushing over them. _

_ “Carter?” he asks again. _

_ Her hand trails down his chest, skimming next to a nipple, and he draws in a sharp gasp. When her fingers trace over the side of his abdomen and come to rest on the loose knot of his towel he finally moves, trapping her hand against his side with the warm strength of his own fingers. _

_ “What are you doing?” he asks, breath washing over the sensitive skin behind her ear. _

_ “I want you,” she says, fingers twitching in his, trying to reach the knot of the towel. _

_ He leans into her and she arches toward him encouragingly, but he holds back, standing into her space but not touching. She drags her gaze away from the point where his towel meets his hips and looks back up to meet his eyes; they’re dark and focused on her and suddenly she’s tired of this game. She’s aching for him, for what he’s hiding beneath that towel, for the feel of his skin pressed against hers. _

_ When she slips her free hand behind his head and drags him down against her mouth he’s caught off guard, and she groans with satisfaction when he stumbles against her, his body hot and hard and his lips slightly parted. She scrapes her fingers along the nape of his neck when he offers a token protest, tugging him closer. Against her mouth he is sweet and salty and she nips his bottom lip, smiling when he grunts, and then soothing the sting with her tongue. She knows she’s won when instead of trying to push her away his hands grip her hips and pull closer. The lockers crash and rattle loudly when he pushes her back, trapping her between him and the cold metal. _

_ “What is this?” he asks against her lips. _

_ She smiles at him when her fingers, now released, find the loose knot and finally tug on it. She can feel the fluttering of his towel against her legs as it falls to the ground around him. Her palm slides over the smooth skin of his hip, curving around his ass and pulling him closer still against her. _

_ He steps into her willingly, and she shifts a little to cradle his nakedness between her legs. His teeth graze along the cords of her neck, a hand slipping up under the tank top to palm the weight of her breast, fingers tugging gently at a taut nipple. She rolls her hips against him, rocking against his arousal, groaning when the spandex of her bike shorts gets in the way of what she so desperately wants. _

_ His hand trails from her breast down her side, and when his fingers hook in the elastic waist of her shorts she shimmies her hips to encourage the clingy fabric to slip down and off her legs. His hand sweeps back up the outside of her thigh, cupping it, and she lifts her leg eagerly, wrapping it around his hips. When he thrusts against her this time, the hard heat of him nudges against her slick entrance. She pushes back against him, desperate for the contact, fingers clawing into his shoulders and head thrown back against the lockers. He pushes again, slowly, and the moan that spills from her lips is throaty and deep as he stretches her wide and slips inside, hard and full and- _

  
  
Sam sits upright, gasping for breath, skin soaked with sweat. Around her the room is dark, only a crack of light below the door allowing a small line of light entrance. 

She fumbles on the small bedside stand for the glass of water while checking the time - it’s 0500. Finishing her glass of water, Sam lays back on the bed and stares up into the dark. Behind her eyes, the ever present suggestion of that headache is already building, competing with the sensations and images still lingering after the dream. 

It’s not working, she acknowledges to herself. The dreams are driving her crazy, and it’s becoming impossible to stay focused on her job. To concentrate on solving this. 

Sighing, she swings her legs over the bed and gets out of bed.

He opens his door before she’s even knocked, not at all surprised to see her standing on the threshold.

“Carter.”

“We need to talk, sir.”

“I know,” he agrees. “Breakfast?”

She nods, and disappears back to her quarters to get dressed.

* * *

Jack waits for her outside her door, like an eager school boy waiting for the girl he has a crush on to finish in her classroom. The walk to the commissary is silent; they walk closer than usual these days, often brushing their hands and arms against each other. Each small contact tingles and feels warm; a sweet sensation that has him aching for more of the same.

He’s not entirely sure if this is an effect of whatever has happened to them, or if it’s something he wasn’t allowing himself to acknowledge before.

He collects the coffee while she gathers up some toast for herself and a bowl of fruit loops for him; sometimes he wonders what it says about the two of them that they can operate in such silence and with such easy synchronicity.

“So,” he says, after a mouthful of fruit loops.

She sighs. “We can’t work like this, sir.”

“I know,” he agrees. “We don’t exactly have a choice though.”

She looks at him and he recognizes the glint in her eyes — no doubt she’s about to suggest some crazy ass idea that will fix everything.

“_ Do _ we have a choice?” he asks.

“Well, I don’t have an idea about fixing this, per se, but I had an idea about trying to make our days a little more our own.”

As much as he enjoys spending time with Carter and having an excuse and touch her regularly, a month of having to drop everything to run and sit next to her for an hour several times a day is starting to wear thin. They’re going to drive each other crazy at this rate.

“Are you going to share this idea?”

“Sir, from our experiments, we know that the longer we have physical contact, the longer we can seem to go without needing to be close together.”

“Yes,” he says.

“Well, what if we got that contact at a time when it wasn’t a nuisance or inconvenient?”

“There is no time like that during the day,” he feels obliged to remind her. 

“No,” she agrees, “there isn’t. Not during the day.”

“Carter, are you suggesting we _ sleep _ together?” he asks, stunned. Of all the things he thought she’d suggest, sharing a bed was not one of them.

“Well, I’m thinking it would be hours of physical contact, sir. It should be enough to let us go most of the day here at the SGC without having an issue. The headaches held off a bit longer when we were roommates in the infirmary; the little bit of distance overnight now that we’re in separate quarters is already impacting on us. I’m waking up with headaches.”

She’s so earnest, sitting across from him with her wide blue eyes and serious face; he doesn’t think she has any understanding of what she’s asking from him.

“Carter,” he says. “You have a _ boyfriend_. I’m pretty sure he’d have an issue with this plan.”

“Uh, actually, I don’t,” she says.

“You don’t think he’ll have an issue with this?”

“No,” she says. And then, almost awkwardly. “I ended things with Pete.”

“Oh,” he says, licking his lips. 

She shrugs, looking down at her half eaten toast. “It was just too hard given what’s going on here. Which says a lot about the future prospects that relationship held, wouldn’t you agree?”

This changes things, he realizes. For him, anyway. It’s a whole lot more dangerous holding hands with Sam Carter when she’s single, compared to when she’s safely involved with someone else. But now, if she has no boyfriend, Jack has no buffer. No reason to remind himself that physical contact is platonic only, and nothing more can come of it.

“Okay,” he says, slowly. “Relationships aside, what you’re suggesting is not exactly appropriate given our working relationships and our ranks.”

She meets his gaze sharply, clearly recognizing the words he’s tossed out on the table. 

“Sir, holding hands with you for hours at a time is not exactly appropriate either,” she says, looking down pointedly at where their hands are loosely clasped on the table. 

“Oh,” Jack says — he hadn’t even realized they were holding hands again. He goes to pull his hand away, but she catches his fingers with hers and holds tight. This has been happening a lot in the last couple of weeks; he’s gotten so used to being _ allowed _ to touch Carter, that lately he’s started doing it without thinking. Without actually _ needing _ to. The only saving grace is that she seems to be just as guilty of initiating the contact between them.

“Sharing a bed is a bit different though, don’t you think?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she agrees, cheeks pink, still looking at their hands. “I don’t know what else to do, sir. I can’t concentrate during the day for more than a couple of hours because of the symptoms starting, and then it takes a few hours before I can get back to work again. If I can’t concentrate I can’t work, and if I can’t work I don’t know how I’m going to solve this.”

Jack nods slowly. “Carter, I just don’t want this to change things between us,” he says, but a part of him wonders how much has changed already, and whether there is ever any coming back from this, even if they do manage to fix this link problem.

She bites on her lip, worrying at it with her teeth before finally dragging her gaze up to his. “I know it’s a bad idea, sir, and I understand if we can’t try it. I’m just running out of ideas _ to _ try.”

Yes, Jack thinks, it is a bad idea, but not for the reasons she’s probably thinking.

He sighs, squeezing her fingers. “I’ll talk to Hammond. Hell, it’s not like we’re functional members of SG-1 at the moment.”

* * *

There’s a good chance this could end her career, Sam acknowledges to herself as she splashes water over her face in the spacious ensuite bathroom of the VIP quarters. To be honest, her career is probably over already, even before willingly jumping into bed with her CO. With the General’s permission. Right in the very base where she’s supposed to uphold the regulations she’s governed by.

She sighs and towels her face dry, burying into the crisp clean towel for a moment before dragging it away and staring at herself in the mirror. Her skin is paler than it should be, and dark circles under her eyes testify to the poor quality of her sleep lately. Even her hair looks lank and unhappy.

What was she thinking, she wonders as she tidies up the sink and carefully hangs her towel over the rail. Suggesting that she should share a bed with her CO, as though it’s a sensible option. And what was Hammond thinking, agreeing to the suggestion?

Her career is definitely over after this.

It’s not like they haven’t shared a room before, Sam tells herself, adjusting the tank top she prefers sleeping in. And it’s not like sharing this bed is going to be anything but a necessity.

But still, sharing a bed with him is very different to sharing a tent and separate sleeping bags with him. Why is she so nervous about this? 

Maybe, a small voice whispers, because she _ wants _ to do this. _ Wants _ to sleep in his arms. To feel his skin against hers. Maybe, because despite everything she’s told herself over the years, her feelings for him are far from professional and much deeper than she’s ever admitted to anyone, including herself.

Eventually she can’t stall any longer, and she walks back into their new shared quarters — the VIP guest quarters are much more spacious than her own quarters, and the only ones that offer a queen size bed.

He’s sprawled across the side of the bed he’s obviously claimed as his own, which suits Sam fine because she prefers the other side anyway. With his bare feet and sweatpants it feels far more intimate than it should. 

“All yours, sir,” she says.

“Thanks, Carter.”

By the time he comes back into the room, she’s under the covers and curled up on her side. It’s stupid, but she feels almost more nervous now than when she was first assigned to SG-1, and terrified of failing.

She doesn’t move when he climbs into the bed beside her, rocking slightly with the jostling of the bed. It’s as though she’s hyper-aware of every sensation, the receptors on her skin on high alert for any brush of his skin against hers. When he settles down and stops moving she finds she’s disappointed.

“Sir?”

“Carter?”

She licks her lips. “I think for this to work we’re going to need physical contact,” she says to the wall away from him, her cheeks feeling as though they’re on fire.

“We are?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

It feels like hours, both of them lying very still with their breaths carefully measured.

“What… what are you thinking?”

She rolls onto her back and reaches out a careful hand until she brushes against his arm. She tells herself the small jolt, almost shock, is static, and not her nerves singing. Gently, holding her breath, she slides her fingers down his arm until she finds his palm, and there leaves her hand resting against his. If his breathing sounds a little louder than it did before, she’s not going to mention it. Hesitantly his fingers move against hers, until their hands are clasped together under the covers.

“This okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says. For now.

She lies awake for a long time after they turn out the lights, listening to the sound of his breathing. She can tell he’s awake too, but the darkness seems too intimate to start a discussion, so she stays quiet, hoping the dreams will stay away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (almost) weekend peeps!
> 
> <3 to my unicorn x

##  Chapter Five

For the first time in weeks, Sam wakes up without a headache. She feels refreshed too, which is nice, but she’s in no particular rush to get up before the alarm goes off, so she snuggles a little deeper into the covers.

A solid warmth stirs behind behind her, and for a moment she settles into the comfortable embrace.

Sam’s eyes fly open.

That’s not Pete. That is  _ not _ Pete curled up behind her, with an arm slung over her waist.

As though he realizes where he is at the same time she does, he pauses against her, and a stilted silence hangs between them.

“I think it worked,” he says, breaking the silence. “My headache is gone.”

“Mine too,” Sam agrees, trying not to notice the way his breath is stirring the hair at the nape of her neck when he talks.

“How long do you think it will last?”

She shrugs a little where she’s still lying in the cocoon of his arms. “Not sure, sir. I’m hoping it will take a lot longer for the headache to come back now.”

He seems to be in no rush to let go of her, or get out of bed. She’s enjoying this far than she should, and that makes her feel as though she’s taking advantage of the situation. She tries to tell herself it’s okay to linger in bed with him, because the longer they maintain the physical contact, hopefully the longer they’ll be able to spend apart today.

“You sleep okay?” 

“Yeah,” she says. No dreams, no restlessness, no tossing and turning. In fact, the last thing she remembers is lying in bed and holding his hand in the dark. “Great, actually.”

“Me too,” he says, sounding a bit surprised. “Looks like your theory was right. Again.”

“Well you know me sir, I’m full of dumb ideas.”

He chuckles, the sound low and lazy as it rumbled down her spine, far too intimate with him pressed against her back. “As long as you keep making them work, Carter, they can be as dumb or crazy as you like.”

“Yes, sir.”

Silence settles over them again, thick and warm and comfortable. When Sam closes her eyes she can almost imagine this is how it would be on a lazy Sunday morning, if things were different. And if things were different she’d be tempted the push back against him a little, maybe hook a leg back over his and—

The alarm by the side of the bed cuts into her thoughts, and even though he has no idea what she was thinking about, her cheeks color with embarrassment.

“Well,” he says, “there it is. Time to get up.”

“Yes, sir,” she agrees, but like him she seems strangely reluctant to move, which is very unlike her usual morning self. She reaches over and silences the alarm, waiting until he slowly drags his arm off her waist and rolls back onto his side of the bed.

With contact broken between them, she feels a little more alert, as though the warm bubble around them has popped and suddenly her mind is free to start functioning again.

It’s a strange, uncomfortable dance as they both get up and take turns using the bathroom, readying themselves for the day. She’s tying the laces on her boots when he steps out of the bathroom in his BDUs, hair still slightly damp from his shower.

“Ready to go?” he asks.

“Yes, sir.”

They walk to the commissary together, hands and arms brushing even though that whisper of a headache hasn’t made an appearance. Sam tells herself the contact is prophylactic, and not because she enjoys that little buzz in her skin each time their fingers touch. 

\---

A familiar rap on the door draws her attention away from the large magnifying glass through which she’s attempting to study the microscopic parts of the dismantled memory recall device. She looks up, blinking to readjust her vision, watching as Colonel O’Neill strolls into her lab with his hands in his pockets.

“Sir?” she asks, frowning. Sure, her neck is stiff from craning over her work, and there’s an ache building the back of her eyes from focusing so hard, but the headache that normally plagues her by mid-morning hasn’t reached full force yet. It’s there now that she’s thinking about it, but not enough to justify the need for physical contact yet.

“Don’t feel like having lunch today?” he asks, leaning against the bench, keeping his hands in his pockets; years of experience seems to have taught him at least a little modicum of caution when it comes to disturbing her work.

“Is it that time already?” she asks in surprise.

“No,” he says. “It’s  _ past _ lunch time already.”

“It is?”

“Carter, it’s fifteen hundred,” he says. “You missed lunch completely.”

She glances at her wristwatch to confirm that yes, it’s mid afternoon already. “Wow,” she says. “This is incredible!”

“You missing lunch is incredible?”

“No, sir,” she says, unable to stop the huff of amusement. “The fact that it’s mid afternoon and we haven’t needed to deal with the headaches. Looks like sleeping together is helping.”

“Do you think it’s fixed permanently?” he asks hopefully.

“That doesn’t seem likely,” she says, shaking her head. “I think in an hour or two we’d need to have some time together again.”

He sighs. “Carter, not that I don’t like spending time with you, but I’m starting to miss my freedom.”

“Me too, sir,” she agrees. “At least we’ve figured out a way to buy us some time during the day.”

“Any progress with all that extra time?”

It galls her to admit it, but the truth is, no. “Unfortunately, sir, I still don’t know what’s caused this.”

“What about the memory things?”

Before Sam can reply, the klaxon’s sound for an unauthorized gate activation. The Colonel straightens, and she follows suit as they head towards the gate room.

“God I hope this is the Tok’ra,” Sam says as they enter the control room.

And finally, as though the universe thinks it’s time to cut them a break, her Dad steps through the open wormhole.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Sarah_M is amazing <3
> 
> Esp thank you for the last minute fix haha.

“I have never heard of this occurring before,” Sel’mak says into the silence of the briefing room, head dipping again in an obvious sign of internal conversation with Jacob Carter. Jack drums his finger on the tabletop, waiting. “No, this is not something any of the Tok’ra have encountered before.”

“I have also not heard of this, even amongst the legends of the Jaffa,” Teal’c says, and Jack’s pretty sure there’s a trace of smugness that he’s not the only one who hasn’t heard of something funky happening with a sarcophagus.

“And you’re certain-”

“Yes,” Carter interrupts. “I’m sorry, Sel’mak, but we’ve been living with this for over a month now, and we’ve done enough experiments to have confirmed that Colonel O’Neill and I need to stay in close proximity regularly - the closer the better.”

“The closer the better?” Sel’mak questions, except Jack realizes it’s not Sel’mak but Jacob Carter pushing through to the surface.

“Dad,” Carter huffs, almost rolling her eyes. “Please. You’re not helping matters by jumping to the wrong conclusion.”

Jacob shoots Jack a look that suggests he doesn’t think he’s too far off the mark with his conclusions. Jack shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and settles when Carter absently reaches over and rests a hand on his thigh. The warmth of her hand through his BDUs is almost hot, but it grounds him in a way little else does. 

“What have you tried so far?” Jacob asks eventually.

“Well, we don’t even know what’s caused this, let alone what exactly this connection is, so the truth is, we have no idea what to try.”

“So you haven’t tried anything?”

Carter shrugs. “All we’ve worked out is the time and distance we can spend apart is directly proportional to the physical distance we’re separated, and it’s influenced by the amount of close physical contact we have preceding that separation.”

“How bad is it?” 

“Up until today, it had deteriorated to the point where the Colonel and I hadn’t been able to spend more than a few hours in separate areas of the base without needing time in each other’s company.”

“And today?”

Carter sort of grimaces, and bites her lip. “Well, today we managed to get through most of the day without the headaches setting in.”

“So what changed?”

Carter looks over at him, reluctance to discuss this is clearly etched across her features. Jack can’t say he’s too keen on disclosing their latest sleeping arrangements to Jacob either; there are some conversations that are just that little bit too awkward. 

“Jacob, Colonel O’Neill and Major Carter haven’t been able to function effectively until today,” Hammond begins, setting the scene. “Major Carter theorized that the amount of time they’re in proximity to each other dictates how much time they can spend apart.”

“Yes, George, we’ve covered this already. How did you come up with a functional way to meet the proximity requirements overnight- Oh.”

There’s a long silence around the briefing table, and Jack is acutely aware of Carter’s hand still resting on his thigh. 

“That’s why we need your help, Dad,” Carter says quietly. “This isn’t sustainable.”

“Has anyone been back to the planet this started?” Jacob asks.

“No,” Hammond says. “Given the hostility experienced there previously, I thought it would be prudent to wait until we heard from the Tok’ra before putting any more of my people at risk.”

“We’ll need to go back there,” Jacob says. “I doubt the memory recall devices have anything to do with this, so we need to see what else is on that planet, and what’s wrong with that sarcophagus.”

“See, that’s exactly what I wanted to do,” Jack feels obliged to point out. 

“However,” Jacob continues as though Jack hasn’t spoken, “Sel’mak and I will take a look at the memory recall devices first, just to make sure there are no unnecessary risks taken.”

\---

“You’re not concentrating, Jack,” Daniel accuses as he moves his bishop. 

The dull, throbbing headache has been increasing slowly in intensity, and it’s making it difficult to concentrate on the game in front of him. It’s also difficult to focus on a game when he keeps thinking about the fact that tonight he gets to sleep with Carter again. While there’s a part of him that’s concerned he’s taking advantage of the situation by enjoying it, the larger part of him is trying  _ not _ to think about it too hard.

“Jack,” Daniel says again when Jack carelessly moves a pawn. “Are you even trying?”

“Sure I am,” Jack lies, watching as Daniel moves a pawn.

“I don’t think you are,” Daniel says. “Check mate.”

“Darn.” Jack flicks the king over and sits back, clearly signalling his interest in the game is over.

“What are you worrying about?” Daniel asks, straightening out the board and carefully restoring the pieces to their starting positions.

“I’m not worrying,” Jack denies.

“You haven’t lost to me in… well… you never lose to me at chess,” Daniel points out. “Not unless something is wrong.”

Sometimes Daniel can be far too perceptive.

“Are you worried about things between you and Sam?”

“What? No,” Jack denies, shaking his head. “It’s just… it’s a little weird, you know?”

Daniel eyes him dubiously. “Really?”

“Right now, Carter is up in her lab with Jacob working on that recall thing. And when this damn headache reminds her it’s time to call it quits, then she’s going to get into bed with me.”

“And?” 

“What do you mean  _ and? _ ” Jack asks. “Don’t you find it weird?”

Daniel shrugs. “If it was Sam and I in this position, yeah, maybe,” he agrees. “But I don’t think I’d find it quite as weird as you’re finding it.”

The words make Jack pause; what if it  _ was _ Daniel and Carter that were linked? Or worse, Jack and Daniel? He blinks, shaking his head. 

“What if this doesn’t go away, Daniel? What if Carter and I are stuck needing to be close to each other for the rest of our lives? And what happens if one of us dies?”

“Well,” Daniel says, putting the last piece in place and then sitting back and looking at Jack. “I don’t see what’s so bad about that. Not the dying part, but the needing to be close part. I mean, think about it, Jack. I’m not stupid. And neither is Teal’c. Maybe this is a way for you and Sam to… you know…”

Usually, Jack would put his ignorant face on and refuse to acknowledge that he has any idea what Daniel is hinting at. Today however…. “This isn’t the way that should ever happen, Daniel,” he says instead. “We deserve the right to choose. And to walk away if things didn’t work. Right now…. This is nothing like that. This is worse than an arranged marriage, because walking away isn’t an option, but neither is escaping each other.”

“Do you  _ want _ to walk away?” Daniel asks, curious.

No. Never. 

“It’s not about what  _ I _ want, Daniel. It’s about freedom and choice. And right now, this doesn’t give either of us any freedom to choose.”

“Jack,” Daniel says, thoughtful again. “Have you ever considered that maybe this  _ would _ be Sam’s choice if circumstances allowed it?”

Oh, he’s wished for that. A million times. And maybe once he’d have jumped on the opportunity. But then Carter went and got a boyfriend, so who’s to know  _ what _ her choice would be anymore.

“You should talk to Sam,” Daniel says, when Jack doesn’t answer. 

\---

The headache finally drives her out of the lab at midnight.

“Are you okay, Sam?” her Dad asks, concern etched onto his features. 

“Yeah,” she says, trying to keep her voice quiet. “It’s just this headache. I’ll be fine when I find the Colonel.”

“You should get some rest,” her Dad says gently, touching her shoulder.

“I will. You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll walk you down,” he says. “I don’t think I want to leave you on your own right now.”

She’d roll her eyes at him, but she’s definitely delayed going to the Colonel for far too long. They make their way to the VIP quarters in silence.

“Well,” Sam says, pausing in front of the door. “This is me.”

“I’m just down the hall,” her Dad says with a half smile. “Right there if you need me.”

This time she does manage to roll her eyes at him. “Really, Dad, I’ll be fine.”

He studies her for a minute, as though trying to convince himself she’s telling the truth, before giving her a brief hug and a kiss goodnight.

It’s dark inside the quarters when she opens the door, but she can feel his presence by the infinitesimal easing of her headache. She moves quietly across the room, shedding her BDUs on the floor as she walks, before sinking down carefully onto her side of the bed. Trying hard not to jostle him, she carefully eases under the covers, finally closing her eyes.

A warm, lean arm reaches over and wraps around her waist, tugging gently, until she rolls towards him and is snugged up against his side. He sighs, nuzzling her hair briefly, and then relaxes beside her. His warmth seeps into her; she lets her hand splay across his t-shirt covered chest and feels the solid thump of his heart beneath her palm.

Slowly she drifts off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Sarah for making this so much better than it was! 
> 
> And to those of you asking about the smut - I promise, there will be smut. Lots of smut. But my plot got in the way a bit... so... good things come to those who wait? 
> 
> ;)

“I need a break, Dad,” Sam says, stepping back from the lab bench and rubbing at her eyes. The headache she’s been ignoring is getting to the point where she shouldn’t be ignoring it any longer. She’s half surprised the Colonel hasn’t made an appearance yet, but she’s pretty sure he’s feeling uncomfortable around her Dad given their current sleeping arrangements.

“Sam?” her Dad looks up for a moment, brow furrowed in confusion.

“I need a break,” she repeats. What she really should say is _ I need Colonel O’Neill_, but like the Colonel, she’s also very aware that their new sleeping arrangements are strange, and it feels a little awkward discussing it with her father.

“Oh, I forgot, I’m sorry,” he says. “I could do with a break too.”

It’s a lie—they’ve worked together often enough, and closely enough, that she knows he and Sel’mak would just keep going and going and going if she didn’t need to stop occasionally for sleep and food.

“Where to?” he asks.

She pauses for a moment, focusing on the muffled awareness she has of the Colonel’s presence now. “I think he’s in the commissary,” she says finally, trusting her knowledge of the base layout in conjunction with the way that sense is guiding her.

Sure enough, Colonel O’Neill is seated at their usual table with Teal’c and Daniel beside him.

“Hmph,” her Dad mutters, casting another look at her.

“It’s an effect of whatever this link is,” Sam says. “I told you about this.”

“Hmph,” he says again.

“Here,” the Colonel pushes a cup of jello and a sandwich toward her. She pretends not to see the way her Dad raises his eyebrows.

Janet arrives not long after, and they pull over another chair to accommodate her at their now crowded table. With her leg pressed firmly against the Colonel’s and their arms brushing together, the intensity of the headache starts to fade away as the conversation flows comfortably between the people around her.

“Any luck with the devices yet?” Daniel asks.

“None,” her Dad answers for her. “Selmak and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with them. We doubt they’re the cause of these symptoms, particularly because you had one too and don’t seem to be affected.”

“It does seem to be pointing more towards the sarcophagus,” Daniel agrees. 

“Which is possible, because we don’t have a thorough knowledge on how they were created, or even how they work.”

“But the Goa’uld-”

“They were created by Anubis,” her Dad corrects, not giving Daniel time to finish his statement.

“So chances are not all Goa’uld know how to create them?” Sam asks, intrigued. 

“I’d be surprised if any of them did. If I was going to put my money on any having worked it out for themselves, it would be Nirti or Ba’al. Probably not many others. It’s why sarcophagi are so few and far between, and usually so well protected.”

“So it would stand to reason if a sarcophagus was damaged, its effects may be different to what we’re used to seeing?”

“Given the length of time this one has been abandoned for, I’d say it’s a fairly good chance it’s the cause of the problem here.”

“So we need to go back to that planet,” Colonel O’Neill says, sitting back and draping his arm across the back of her seat; it’s solid and warm against her back and she leans into it comfortably.

“I agree,” her Dad says, frowning a little. “I’ll talk to George this afternoon, but I don’t think we’re getting anywhere with the recall devices, and he may agree to send a team through the gate with me.” 

“I’m going to go do some more reading around Anubis,” Daniel says, pushing back from the table and steadying his crutches under his arm. “Maybe I’ll find something that might help.”

“I’ll go talk to George,” her Dad says.

“I need to get back too,” Janet echoes, then turns to face Sam. “Sam, could I see you in the infirmary?”

“Sure.” 

“Is now a good time?”

Honestly, all Sam wants to do right now is keep sitting next to the Colonel and feeling his warmth. There’s something about the contact that makes it difficult to leave his side. “I just need…”

“Go on,” the Colonel says, nudging her with his arm, sensing her reluctance. “I’ll come see you later.”

Janet’s brow furrows in concern. “Do you need some more time?”

“No,” Sam says honestly. “It’s okay, we’ll find each other later.”

Janet shoots her another considering look, and Sam feels a little prickle of unease uncoil in her belly. Silently, she gets up and follows Janet. She pretends she doesn’t notice the coolness of the air where there Colonel’s arm is no longer resting against her. 

\---

“In here,” Janet says, nodding at her office.

That little coil of unease wriggles uncomfortably, but Sam dutifully follows Janet into the small room. She’s definitely concerned when Janet closes the door and then seats herself behind her desk.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks. “Have you found something?”

Janet sighs. “No, nothing has changed with yours or the Colonel’s results.”

“Then what’s wrong?” 

The hesitation on Janet’s face is telling, and Sam has a sinking feeling she knows what this is about.

“I don’t want you to say anything, Sam, just hear me out, okay? I need to flag something with you, and then it’s up to you what you do with that.”

“O-kay.”

“I can appreciate that right now things are… _ complicated _ between you and the Colonel, but…”

“But what, Janet?”

“I know that physical contact is the quickest way to alleviate the symptoms, but it seems to have moved a little beyond that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sam, you can hardly keep your hands off each other when you’re in the same room. The two of you were very ... _ comfortable _with each other in the commissary. I know the lines are getting blurred, I mean, how could they not? I guess I’m just surprised at how obvious you are letting yourselves be. From an outsider's perspective it might look like you’re taking advantage of the situation.”

“We’re not,” Sam says quickly, shaking her head, but that sinking feeling is getting heavier.

“Really?”

Sam closes her eyes. “I promise, Janet, nothing is happening.”

“I just needed you to know what I’ve noticed; Daniel and Teal’c have noticed it too. If we’re seeing it, then I’m pretty sure other people are too.”

Sam takes a slow, careful breath in before steeling herself to open her eyes. It’s humiliating to hear what people are seeing, thinking and assuming. The shame burns; so many years she’s deliberately turned a deaf ear to the gossip and made a point of being the perfect professional in the Colonel’s presence. A few short months under an alien influence and she’s effectively undone all that hard work, all the desperate defences she’s built to try and convince herself and everyone else around her that she doesn’t have inappropriate feelings for her superior officer. 

The frustrating part is right now she’s not even sure how much of this is driven by her own feelings, and how much is driven by this connection between them. 

“I don’t…. It’s not us, Janet,” Sam says finally, opening her eyes and meeting Janet’s gaze. “We wouldn’t do this. You know that.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Janet agrees. “But you wouldn’t have shared a bed either.”

“No,” Sam shakes her head. “This is different. It’s like… it’s like I’m drugged when I’m around him. As though I crave being physically close to him, and then when I am, all the reasons not to be just… they stop being important. I don’t even notice that I’m touching him half the time, Janet, and I don’t think he does either.”

Janet purses her lips. “You think this is another effect of whatever has happened to you?”

“I think so,” Sam says helplessly. “I don’t know.”

“Have you considered it’s maybe a consequence of what already exists between you? Repressed feelings can manifest in all sorts of ways. Now that there’s a physical link, maybe it’s a subconscious relaxing of what’s always been there between the two of you?”

Sam thinks about the words, weighing them up. There’s a part of her that’s worried Janet’s right; that this new physical intimacy between them can’t be completely attributed to the link that’s now tying them together.

“I don’t know,” she says eventually. “It’s been years since any of this came up, Janet. I don’t know if he still feels that way. God knows we’ve never mentioned it.”

Janet nods. “Okay. I just needed to say something, because if you and the Colonel are planning on working together again you need to be very careful about your actions, especially given your current sleeping arrangements.”

Sam closes her eyes, trying to squash down the sense of panic that’s rising in her chest. “Do you think General Hammond will ever let the two of us back on the same team again?” 

Janet hesitates. “Sam, I was surprised three years ago when he kept SG-1 together. I don’t think you should be jumping to conclusions or trying to predict what’s going to happen when this is resolved. I think we need to focus on how to fix this.”

“What if we can’t, Janet? What if this the way it will be for the rest of our lives?”

“I don’t know, Sam. I think we worry about that when we’ve exhausted all possible avenues.”

Sam nods slowly.

The truth is, she’s starting to lose hope that there will be a cure for this. She’s not sure how she feels about a lifetime of needing to be in close proximity to the Colonel, let alone the loss of her career.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for delays (again); I feel like that's all I say lately! Thanks for the lovely comments from everyone, I really appreciate it. Hope you're still enjoying (even those of you who are only here for the smut haha).
> 
> Also thank you to my amazing beta, who makes me fill in details and not take the easy way out xx

They sleep late the next morning.

It was well after midnight by the time Jacob, Teal’c and SG-12 gated to P2S-491, and Carter didn’t come to bed for a long time after that. Given the deep sleep she’s in next to him, he figures she needs the rest. So he lays still and quiet next to her, enjoying the way her bare legs are pressed against his and her hair is tickling his chin.

He could get used to waking up like this, he thinks, breathing in the scent of her hair. 

Eventually she stirs against him, enough that he recognizes she’s starting to wake up. He runs a lazy hand up the smooth skin of her arm, admiring the graceful curve of her neck and strength of her shoulders.

A sleepy, throaty noise of enjoyment sounds from her, and she stretches languidly against him. She’s so close to him that if he leans his head a little forward, it would be so easy to press a kiss to her—

She stiffens against him slightly and he’s brought back to earth with a jolt. 

This is _ Carter_. This is his colleague and subordinate. As easy as it is to imagine that this intimacy is okay, it’s really not.

“What are we doing, Carter?” he sighs, fingers slipping off her arm.

“I don’t know, sir,” she says, and in the huskiness of her sleepy voice he can hear the heaviness of regret. “I don’t think it’s us.”

“No,” he agrees.

Oh, he wants Carter. And he wants this with Carter. But he wants it on an equal footing, and not because an alien accident has suddenly created some unnatural bond between them.

She pulls away from him slowly and sits up on the bed with her back toward him, until she’s nothing more than a shadow in the dark room.

“Janet said something to me about this yesterday.”

“What did she say?”

“That everyone is noticing how familiar we’re being with each other.”

Jack rolls onto his back, staring up into the dark. This must be why she avoided him yesterday afternoon, only finding him when the headache was demanding a contact, and not staying any longer than necessary. He’d missed her yesterday. 

“Do you think she’s right?” 

The silence is almost damning when she fails to speak. Maybe Fraiser’s right, he admits to himself. Maybe they are too familiar with each other now. He thinks about how touching her makes him feel; the way the brush of her skin against his seems to soothe not only the headache, but all the worries and anxieties about what’s happening between them. How can a touch that does all that be so wrong? 

However, if people are talking—regardless of the situation—nothing good will come of it. But he doesn’t really see a way around it either.

She sighs; it sounds resigned and somewhat lost. 

“I’m open to suggestions if you think this is a problem, Carter.”

“We just need to be aware of it, sir. Try to minimize the damage, and maybe not to be so...”

When her words trail off, Jack nods, even though she can’t see him. “Yeah. Okay,” he says softly, but even now he’s aching to touch her again.

Silence settles between them, then the bed moves as she stands up and disappears into the bathroom. 

He’s left lying in the dark with his thoughts and the whisper of a lingering headache.

* * *

“There was almost nothing left of the sarcophagus,” Selmak says apologetically. “The local people rioted when they learnt about Janeel’s deception, and destroyed anything they deemed related to the Goa’uld.”

Jack had known it wasn’t good news when Jacob, Teal’c and SG-12 stepped back through the ‘gate, but hearing the words spoken aloud is so much more confronting. 

They’ve always solved the unsolvable. Carter’s normally her most brilliant when under the most amount of pressure, and he can’t think of any more pressure on her than the threat of having to spend the rest of her life bound to him. 

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Jacob says when the silence in the briefing room stretches. “I really hoped we’d find some answers.”

Jack tries hard to keep his mouth shut. 

“We should have gone back as soon as we made the connection.”

Everyone turns to look at him; apparently he didn’t try hard enough.

“Where does this leave us?” Carter inserts smoothly, drawing attention away from him.

Unusually, she’s seated opposite him at the table instead of beside him, and each time he looks at her he feels an aching jolt; a yearning for even a small brush of contact with her. He’d blame the headache for this overwhelming need to touch her, but it’s so faint he’s hardly noticing it.

She’s right; it isn’t them. He’s always wanted Carter, but this desperation to just be with her is definitely not normal.

“Selmak and I can take one of the recall devices back to the Tok’ra,” Jacob says. “One of the others may have more information, or know something that could be useful. And the researchers may be able to get more information from the device than what we’ve been able to ascertain.”

“You’re leaving already?” There’s an obvious note of disappointment in Carter’s voice.

“I’m sorry, Sam, but Selmak and I need to get back. I don’t think either of us will be able to shed any more light on what’s happening at the moment, and it will be better if we can utilize the collective knowledge of the Tok’ra instead.”

Carter doesn’t say anything further, and when Jack glances at her she’s got her neutral expression on; the one that’s carefully worn anytime she’s not happy. The rest of the debriefing is quick and to the point, but Jack doesn’t really pay attention. He’s pretty sure, judging by Carter’s downcast eyes and furrowed forehead, that she’s not listening either.

“Okay then, dismissed,” Hammond says, unexpectedly.

Chairs are pushed back as everyone starts standing up. Jack begins to do the same when Hammond calls out. “Colonel O’Neill, Major Carter, a word please.”

Jack exchanges a brief, almost guilty glance with Carter before they follow Hammond into his office.

“Take a seat, Colonel. Major.”

Silently they take a seat on the two chairs opposite Hammond; Jack can’t shake the feeling that this is a lot like visiting the principal’s office after a misdemeanor at school.

Hammond sighs heavily and leans back in his chair, studying them. “I don’t really know what to do in this situation,” he says finally.

“Sir?” Jack asks.

“We don’t have any other avenues to explore at the moment, Jack. The Tok’ra were our best bet. Unless you’ve come up with something in the meantime…” he looks hopefully at Carter, who slowly shakes her head at him with that same, blank expression she’s been wearing since Jacob told them the sarcophagus was destroyed. 

“There has to be another option, right?”

“I don’t know, sir,” she says slowly. “I’m out of ideas. This is beyond me.”

“What about the Asgard?” Jack tries. “Maybe they can help us?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Carter says again, and Jack decides he really doesn’t like it when Carter says _ I don’t know _. 

“Come on. We’ve saved their asses enough times that they owe us one. What does it hurt to ask?”

“It’s worth a try,” Hammond agrees. “I’ll get a message organized ASAP.”

Carter starts to stand up. “I’ll get the—”

“No, Major,” Hammond interrupts.

“But—”

“I can’t put either of you back on active duty, Major. You’re both compromised.”

Carter lowers herself back down onto her chair slowly while Hammond’s words echo around them.

“What are you saying, General?” Jack asks.

“Like I said, I’m not really sure what to do. Protocol dictates that a permanent incapacity or inability means either a discharge, or if appropriate, reassignment.”

“Aren’t we jumping the gun a little there, General? We don’t know that this is permanent.”

“It’s been almost two months, and I don’t believe we’re any closer to a cure or a solution than we were on the day you stepped back from P2S-491, are we?”

“No, sir.” He can hear the guilt on Carter’s words, the frustration, and the carefully controlled anger that he knows must be simmering beneath the surface; Carter’s a professional but he knows her well enough to know she has a quick temper.

“And unfortunately, even if we do find a cure, I don’t think it would be in either of your best interests to let you continue on the same unit.”

Jack’s been waiting for years for Hammond to utter those words—since the za’tarc incident really—but time doesn’t make those words any easier to hear. He takes a deep breath in, trying to force the sudden grief and fear of losing his team deep down to keep his mind clear. 

“General, Major Carter and I have not done anything that would compromise our ability to work together,” he tries, but the memory of her soft and warm against him in the bed threatens to make a liar of him. 

“No, Colonel, you haven’t,” Hammond says with a sigh. “Truth be told, you’re lucky to have worked together as long as you have. And maybe if this hadn’t happened, then things wouldn’t have to change. But the fact is, I’ve had two of my officers walking around the SGC holding hands and sharing a bed on my base. While we all know it’s a direct effect of alien technology and out of your control, it would be in your best interests to separate you as soon as possible. If possible.”

There’s a cold, empty feeling settling in his gut. “So we’re off SG-1?” 

“Temporarily at least. Until we figure out a way to keep you both at this facility given your current situation.”

“So that’s it?” Jack demands. “You’re just giving up on us?”

“No, I’m not, Colonel. But it’s time to consider that there may not be a way to fix this, and that we need to start considering your options should that eventuate. In the meantime, I think you and Major Carter are entitled to some leave of absence.”

“But sir,” Carter says, “how are we going to fix this if we aren’t on base?”

“You’ve said yourself Major; you’re out of ideas.”

“General, I need to keep working on this. Please.” There’s an edge of desperation on Carter’s voice that Jack’s never heard before; he can almost feel it.

“I’m sorry, Major, but you can Colonel O’Neill are officially on convalescent leave as of today.”

“So who’s going to keep working on this while we’re on leave?” Jack demands again, unable to keep the frustration from his voice now. If Carter’s not working on this, how will they ever get it fixed?

“Jack, please,” Hammond says. “Don’t make this more difficult than it already is. There’s enough pressure from some parties to discharge you on medical grounds straight away. This is the only way I can satisfy them while still trying to come up with a solution.”

He should have known there would be people who’d try to take the opportunity to get rid of him and Carter; it wouldn't be the first time over the years outside organizations and politics have tried to interfere with the running of the base. As if it’s not enough that he and Carter are in this predicament, to know that people are trying to use it against them adds a layer of discomfort to the situation.

“You need Carter working on this,” Jack says simply.

“I know that, son. And she will. You just need to take some time until we hear from the Asgard. In the meantime I’m assigning Doctor Jackson and Teal’c to SG-13; Doctor Jackson has suggested some planets and avenues for investigation that may give us more insight into the workings of the sarcophagus, as well as some Ancient references that may offer some ideas.”

Hammond’s a good man and a good commander and a friend. But all he can hear as Hammond speaks is the sound of his life being dismantled. The sound of betrayal as he loses his team and his purpose. And all he is left with is an unnatural bond tying him to a woman he shouldn’t be tied too.

“This is temporary, Jack. I promise you—both of you—while I am in command of this facility I will do whatever I can to help reverse what has happened to the two of you, and get you back in the field again.”

As much as Jack trusts Hammond, and knows Hammond means what he says, the words still feel empty. There are no guarantees that anyone can fix this; Jack’s starting to realize that it’s looking more and more unlikely that there will be a solution. And even if there is a solution, things can never go back the way they were. Because he doesn’t like to think about that, he swallows roughly and tries to ignore the stale, empty feeling growing inside him.

“Thank you, General,” Carter says quietly beside him, and he can hear the defeat in her voice. “We appreciate your support.”

“Thank you, sir,” he echoes. The room is silent then, as though none of them can move forward from the moment. How do they get through the next days, weeks and months now? What are they supposed to do while they wait for _ someone _ to fix this?

“Wait,” Jack frowns. “Does this mean we get to go home, sir?”

Hammond smiles. “It sure does, Jack.”

It’s only after Hammond’s dismissed them that he realizes home is going to be a bit different now—looks like for the interim at least that he and Carter will be living together.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Sarah_M
> 
> 💛
> 
> PS definitely no unicorns for me, but here: 🐴🍭🍪

“Your place or mine?”

The words hang in the air between them, almost stifling in the cab of his truck. It’s not that she hasn’t thought about him uttering those words before, it’s just she’s always imagined very different scenarios in her head when he says them.

“Yours,” she says after a pause. It’s the obvious answer really, she thinks. The thought of sharing his bed though… She swallows roughly. Suddenly she’s very aware of his hand resting on the gear shift beside her.

She’s so lost in thought that she almost doesn’t notice when he turns right at the intersection instead of left.

“Where are you going?”

“Your place,” he says. “You need clothes and stuff.”

True. She can’t exactly live in BDUs and a single pair of jeans for the rest of her life.

Rest of her life.

Sam sneaks a peek at the Colonel; he’s focused on the road ahead of him, face lost in concentration.

What would it be like to spend the rest of her life with him?

Something flips and churns inside her chest, and she quickly turns her gaze out of the passenger window of his truck. The air feels stifling again, despite the aircon he’s got blasting, and she thinks maybe it has more to do with her state of mind than conditions in the truck.

She’d give anything right now to get on her motorcycle and take off; get some air in her face and freedom under her wheels.

Oh, she’s had vague notions and ideas about spending a lot of time with him. Time involving a cabin and fishing and hiking and probably a few other physical activities. But over the years he hasn’t really given her any indication he still feels the same way, so she’s become very adept at keeping those thoughts carefully hidden away. 

Besides, this forced companionship isn’t exactly a happily ever after.

She closes her eyes and tips her head back against the headrest.

It wouldn’t be so bad if she wasn’t so desperate to touch him, she thinks.

No sooner has the thought crossed her mind than he drops his hand from the gear stick and reaches over to gently snag her fingers with his. He’s still not looking at her, but something inside her loosens a little at the contact.

Maybe things will work out okay.

* * *

She’s been to his house many times over the years. Mostly for evenings with the rest of SG-1, the occasional cookout, and one memorable day where they held a wake for Daniel and the Colonel took a hockey stick to General Hammond’s car.

But she’s never really been in his house alone with him for any extended period of time, and never with the intention of sharing his bed.

It should feel a little weirder, she thinks to herself as she tips the scraps into his garbage disposal, but really, it feels strangely normal, and that alone is freaking her out. Silently she hands the plate over to the Colonel who stacks it in the dishwasher.

She rinses out the sink and wipes down the table while he pours her another glass of wine and gets himself a Guinness. Together they make their way to the living room and settle side by side on his sofa. Her thigh and arm are deliciously warm where they’re pressed against him, and she’s intrigued by the sight of their bare feet resting comfortably on the coffee table next to each other. 

The documentary is just about finished by the time their drinks are empty, and at some point he’s slipped an arm around her shoulders and she’s curled against his chest, half dosing against him; it seems the uncomfortable awareness about being too familiar with each other has faded now that they’ve left the base.

“C’mon,” he says, rubbing her shoulders. “Bed.”

She thought it would be awkward, climbing into his bed tonight, but really, it’s no different than it has been on base, except the sheets smell faintly like him. And, she realizes with a jolt as she slides up against him, he’s not wearing a tee shirt to bed.

“Is this okay?” he asks when she pauses against him.

She swallows, and nods. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

He wraps his arms around her and holds her to him; she rests her cheek in the crook of his shoulder and hesitantly puts her hand on his chest over his heart. Beneath her fingertips she thinks she can almost feel a tingle where she touches him.

It’s definitely fine, she thinks, closing her eyes. But it takes her a long time to relax enough to drop off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that was so quick; I promise, the next update will be totally worth it (and also not very far away!!) 
> 
> 😘


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💛👻 as always to Sarah for being amazing xx 
> 
> And thank you to everyone for the lovely comments and understanding as I take my time with this :)

“Any problems?” Fraiser asks, sticking a thermometer in his ear.

“Nope.”

“Headaches?”

“None.”

“What about the dreams?”

Jack frowns, considering. “They stopped when Carter and I started sleeping together.”

“That’s interesting,” Fraiser comments, jotting something down on her ever present clipboard.

It’s a relief, Jack thinks to himself, because so far he’s been lucky and avoided embarrassing situations with Carter. Given they’re sleeping together so closely these days he imagines it’s only a matter of time before his body betrays him. He shifts uncomfortably on the bed and waits for Fraiser to continue her review.

“How much time did you spend apart yesterday?”

“We didn’t.”

Fraiser frowns at him. “None?”

Jack shrugs. “By the time we picked up Carter’s stuff and got some food there wasn’t a whole lot of time left to do anything. And then this morning we came straight back here for a check up.”

“Have you given any thought to exploring the limitations of distance and time outside of the mountain?” Fraiser asks. “You know, in case either of you wants to do something without the other?”

To be honest, it hasn’t really occurred to Jack that he may want to do things without Carter. These days, it feels like every waking thought is filled with Carter.

“What about the risk of passing out?” he wonders, almost surprised that Fraiser would encourage them to push the limits.

“I’m sure you two are familiar enough with the signs by now, Colonel,” she says with a half smile. “Maybe start off small like across a park or a mall, and build up from there?”

It’s probably a good idea, but he really isn’t that interested in separating from Carter.

“Are we done here, doc?”

She snaps the clipboard shut and nods her head, taking a half step back. “Yes, sir. You’re all good to go.”

He’s standing up off the bed and about to leave the infirmary, when she touches his arm gently. When he meets her gaze, it’s his friend Janet looking at him, and not the usual no-nonsense exterior of Doctor Fraiser.

“This situation is difficult for both of you, Colonel,” she says quietly. “The enforced company is going to take a toll on you, and I think it’s important that you try to maintain as much normalcy as you can.”

“As normal as things can be now,” Jack mutters. “There is no normal anymore; Hammond’s taken us off SG-1 and put us on leave. How is that maintaining normalcy?”

Fraiser winces sympathetically. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Jack shrugs, stuffing his hands awkwardly into his pockets. “Thanks. I need to go find Carter now. Make sure she’s not disobeying orders and working on something.”

“I’ll see you in a week for a check up, Colonel.”

He’s just about at Carter’s lab when the alarm for an unauthorized wormhole sounds. For a second he stops and turns around, ready to head for the control room, but the reality is he’s on enforced leave, in his civvies, and Hammond would  _ not _ appreciate him appearing in the control room.

Carter appears in the doorway of the lab, face set as she starts up the corridor also heading towards the control room.

“Carter!”

She falters. “Sir?”

He shakes his head briefly. “Not for us.”

She comes to a halt, mouth slightly open as she stares at him; she looks like he’s kicked her in the guts.

“C’mon, Carter,” he says, trying not to show that it’s costing him everything to look like he’s okay about their new-found exclusion from base activities. “Let’s go home.”

She nods stiffly. “Yes, sir. Let me just get my things.”

* * *

Jack blames Fraiser.

He blames her for planting ideas in his subconscious that have now put him in this position.

This position being waking up with a very hard, almost painful erection that is pressing oh-too-happily against the soft curve of Carter’s ass.

It’s Fraiser’s fault that he was dreaming again; if she hadn’t reminded him about the dreams this morning, then this wouldn’t have happened. Definitely Fraiser’s fault. The dream itself wasn’t like the vivid, explicit dreams of before, but rather indistinct blurry sensations and a drugging warmth that reminded parts of his anatomy about the fun things it could be doing. The fun things that it  _ wants _ to be doing. 

Beside him, Carter shifts a little in her sleep, pressing against him. As of their own volition his hips move forward against her, aching for the soft warmth he knows is just out of reach. Carter wriggles again and a soft, sleepy sound escapes her, barely more than a whisper in the dark. The sound travels right through him and coils at the base of his spine.

Jack swallows, deliberately slowing his breathing and willing things to settle down.

After a few minutes it’s painfully obvious that things aren’t going to settle on their own, not when Carter’s scent is filling his senses and the soft curve of her ass is nestled so close to the part of him that currently wants her most.

He should get up. He should get out of the bed, go into the bathroom, and take care of things behind closed doors. Carter doesn’t need to know.

He’s working up the strength to let go of her, trying to convince himself that really, he does want to give up that soft, inviting warmth, when she stirs again. There’s a sudden ripple of awareness between them, and Jack knows she’s waking up.

The knowledge spurs him into action, giving him strength to break the spell Carter and the link seem to hold over him. He pulls his arm off her waist, desperate to avoid the inevitable embarrassment that’s about to ensue. She rolls backwards with his motion, half laying with her back on his chest and her ass still snugly nestled against his erection, effectively trapping him beneath her.

“Where are you going?” she murmurs, sleepy and enticing in the dark.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice almost strangled in his throat.

He waits for her to shift away, to give him the freedom that he’s both craving and dreading, but instead she takes the wrist of his hand still resting on her hip and rolls back onto her side, dragging him with her so he’s spooning her again. The movement drives his hips into hers, and he can almost feel the arousal surge through her.

In fact, he’s pretty sure he can tell she’s turned on by this. It’s not like he can read her mind, but there’s a sensation that makes him think he knows what Carter’s feeling or experiencing on some level. And he’s almost convinced she’s just as aroused as he is.

He has no idea what to do. She’s still holding his hand keeping him against her, but she’s unmoving, as though locked in position. It’s all well and good thinking she’s as aroused as he is, but he still has no idea what to do about it.

Actually, he does know what to do. This is Carter, his subordinate. What he needs to do is move away and let things settle down, somehow get past the embarrassment that’s going to inevitably follow, and work out a way to try and fix this link problem between them. So gently, reluctantly, he pulls back a little on his arm, signalling his intent to get up.

He expects her to let go of the wrist she’s still holding and to shift away, when instead she moves against him. It’s only subtle, but very much deliberate as she pushes back against his hardness. She lets out a soft, breathy sigh, and his cock twitches against her.

“Carter,” he says; this time there’s no hiding the raggedness of his voice.

There’s no mistaking the sinuous stretch against him, a gentle pressure pushing against his hardness. Against his better judgement he rocks his hips against her. Another sigh from her, and then she’s sliding a leg backwards over his hips, inviting him closer, her grip on his wrist loosening. 

Jack can only tell himself later that it’s the combination of Carter and the strange, drugging bond between them that causes him to respond to her rather than pulling away the way he knows he should. Maybe it’s why Carter’s acting so out of character too. 

He slides his hand back to her hip and holds her close to him, thrusting slowly and deliberately. Through the soft fabric of their underwear he can feel her heat as she pushes back against him. So he pushes again, and she meets him thrust for thrust. The friction, heat and knowledge that she’s as aroused as he is blurs his thoughts, and his focus narrows down to the feel of her as the tension builds and burns in him.

Her hips twist against his, changing the angle of his thrusts, and he can almost feel himself nudging her entrance through their clothing. He’s so tightly wound that the ache is almost unbearable now; his fingers are digging into her hips, and she’s making soft little noises in the back of her throat that are driving him wild. Between them the fabric of their underwear is soaked with her arousal. 

Her breath is almost a moan and her hips buck against his. He sinks his teeth into the soft skin at the slope of her shoulder, and a small cry breaks the silence between them. Her skin tastes of salt and sweat and _ Carter _ while she shatters against him; it’s enough for the surge of release to wash through him. 

By the time he’s got his breath back and come to his senses, the sweat is starting to cool on his skin and he’s uncomfortably aware of the wetness in the front of his boxers. Carter is quiet and still, not curled up against him, but close enough that their skin is brushing.

What do they do now? What do they say now?

He rolls onto his back and rubs at his face, staring up at the dark ceiling above them. 

When Carter slips quietly from the bed and disappears into the bathroom, he closes his eyes and finds himself hoping that he hasn’t just screwed things up between them irrevocably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY they all say! 
> 
> And so it begins.... 
> 
> 😄


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to the beautiful Sarah_M for patience and keeping me honest.

The light is barely creeping into the room through the gaps in the curtains when Sam wakes up. The Colonel’s arm is wrapped around her; with his head tucked into the nape of her neck she can feel his regular breaths warm against her skin. For a time she lies quietly in his embrace, enjoying the feel of his solidity behind her and heaviness of his arm around her. She’s never been one to enjoy sleeping tangled with a bed partner, but this easy intimacy with the Colonel is so comfortable she feels bereft if they separate in their sleep.

Her body feels warm and loose, relaxed as she lazes in the bed. This new habit of languishing under the covers is also something that’s suddenly more appealing than it’s ever been; she’s not sure if it’s because of the synthetic bond between them or if it’s because of with who the bond is shared.

Closing her eyes, Sam bites her lip.

What were they thinking last night?

Actually, what the hell was _ she _ thinking last night? 

Men get erections; it’s a biological fact. Sure, it’s flattering to think he had one while in bed with her, but then it’s a physiological reaction that may have had nothing to do with her in the first place. He had been trying to get up discreetly, and she all but dragged him back into the bed and started thrusting against him. Of course he’d join in—who wouldn’t make the most of an opportunity when it presented itself?

He’s her commanding officer and—

Her thoughts halt in place; it’s like a splash of cold water bringing her back to reality.

He’s not her commanding officer anymore. Not officially. Likely not again. 

However, he is still a senior officer. Even if she doesn’t rejoin SG-1 he will probably still be in some form of chain of command over her given his position as second in command of the SGC. 

So either way, what the hell had she been thinking?

Stifling a groan she carefully slips from the bed, trying hard not to disturb his rest. After their little moment last night they both lay awake in an awkward silence for a long, long time, and chances are he still needs his rest. God knows she’s exhausted.

She showers in the spare bathroom to avoid waking him. By the time he shuffles into the kitchen and heads towards the coffee, she pretends to be engrossed in the data on her laptop, desperately going over the same old theories and schematics in a painful and ineffective attempt at trying to find a way to fix this.

The fact is, her body is still humming from her orgasm last night and she’s caught between being both terrified it will happen again, and desperately _ wanting _ it to happen again

* * *

Jack feels like there’s an itch under his skin, reminding him of the now constantly present arousal almost prickling through him that he’s trying very hard to ignore. 

The events of the night before hang between them, unacknowledged. As though they’re trying to escape either it, or each other, there’s an unspoken agreement to get out of the house. They make a pretence of grocery shopping together (really, he’s content to live on pizza and beer and Chinese take out, and he knows she’s probably not much more inclined to cook than he is), and then he drags her to the gardening store because there’s some yard work he’s been meaning to do for a while. 

In turn, he follows her to the auto store and watches while she peruses oils and electronics.

“You want to go pick up your bike?” he asks when they return to his car.

She hasn’t smiled so brightly in weeks, he thinks. 

He’s mindful of Fraiser’s suggestion that they try to spend some time apart, so he deliberately keeps his truck some distance behind her bike on their journey back to his house. It’s a strange feeling when she gets too far ahead; it feels like a piece of himself is being drawn too thin. It’s not a feeling he likes, and he doesn’t remember feeling anything like this when they separated before they knew about the bond. He wonders if maybe the link is changing between them, or whether it’s all in his mind. He figures Carter’s probably already got some theory brewing to explain it.

He spends the afternoon mowing and trimming the edges, pretending not to pay attention to the way the jeans hug her ass and the low cut tank she’s wearing gives tantalizing glimpses of her breasts while she’s working on the bike now parked in his driveway.

By the time he’s finished his yard work he’s hot and sweaty and trying hard to ignore the arousal that’s been bubbling under his skin since the moment he opened his eyes. Carter, with grease smears on her cheeks and her skin a healthy pink from too much sun, is not helping the situation developing in his pants. Not at all. So he excuses himself to take a shower and attempts to take care of matters, hoping to prevent a repeat of the night before.

* * *

When the Colonel excuses himself for a shower, Sam decides she could do with a wash too, given all the grease and sweat that’s collected on her skin. The weather is probably too warm for a bath, but she really doesn’t care. Behind her, the tub is filling quickly, steam starting to billow in the Colonel’s spare bathroom while she unashamedly digs through his cupboards until she uncovers a small bottle of soap that’s she’s pretty sure will result in a few bubbles.

It’s not long before a familiar scent mingles with the clouds of steam; it smells like him, and she breathes it in deep. All day the buzz of arousal has been following her, like silk brushing against her skin; the whispering silk ignites as she steps into the bath, arousal flaring as the water caresses her. 

She sinks into the hot water slowly, closing her eyes as it washes over skin that’s already slick with sweat and steam in the too-humid air of the bathroom. She only pauses a moment before letting her hand drift between her legs, tipping her head back against the cold edge of the tub; something inside clenches tightly and a rush of heat pools down low. 

Is she really going to do this, she wonders as she hesitates; is she really going to work herself over in her commanding officer’s spare bathroom while he’s having a shower? The thought has barely crossed her mind when she imagines him standing in the shower, his hard length in his hand while she’s touching herself in his bath. She gasps at the image, almost overwhelmed by the sensation of the hot water on her sensitive skin, and the pressure of her fingers while she’s surrounded by the scent of him.

Somehow, she _ knows _ he’s doing this too; can almost feel the crackling of his need and force of his arousal now that she’s focused on it. It should make her shy away from doing this, she thinks, if he somehow knows what she’s doing too. But the knowledge and sensation is like drug dragging her closer, enticing her to keep going, and her fingers settle into a familiar rhythm that has her head tipping back and her breath coming in short, gasping pants. The way his emotions are reflected back at her seems to intensify the feeling of her fingers on her skin, the tension building low in her pelvis and the racing heartbeat thudding deep in her chest. When he comes she can almost feel the pleasure burn in her veins as her desperate fingers circle and rub almost erratically; she feels like she’s drowning in the sense of him.

She’s so overly sensitized it doesn’t take much before her hips jerk and hot water splashes over the side of the bath onto the floor. Dazed, she lays there, almost hypnotized by the aftershocks still washing over her; her body heavy and sluggish after her release.

By the time she recovers, the bubbles are dissipating and suddenly she doesn’t feel like lingering anymore. She finishes her bath before wrapping herself in a towel. 

The glass of the mirror is cold beneath her hand as she swipes away the condensation; her blurry reflection looks pink and flushed in a way that has nothing to do with the heat of the water. 

What the hell is wrong with her? What is happening to her? 

She’s reaching for her underwear when a bright flash of light catches her off guard.

* * *

Over the years, Jack’s become familiar with the unsettling experience of being unexpectedly beamed from one place to another; he’s never quite experienced it before dressed in only his boxers. His lack of clothing doesn’t make the experience any less disconcerting, but at least he’s familiar enough with the Asgard to recognize their ship.

“Greetings O’Neill. Major Carter.”

“Thor,” Jack greets, resigned. “Don’t suppose you could turn up the heating?”

In the cool, regulated air of the Asgard vessel, Jack’s damp skin is feeling the chill. Beside him, Carter looks stunned; her hair is wet and dripping onto her shoulders. She’s only wearing a towel—a very _ short _ towel _ — _wrapped around her torso, with a whole lot of toned leg on display and not a whole lot more left to his imagination. Deliberately, Jack tries not to look at her; the sight of all that damp skin is doing interesting things to his anatomy. He thought he’d taken care of that problem in the shower.

He swallows roughly and turns his attention back to Thor who’s waiting patiently. 

“I have adjusted the atmosphere accordingly, O’Neill. And I apologize for the delay in answering your call for assistance,” Thor says.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jack says, waving his hand. “Do you think you can help us?”

“I am uncertain,” Thor says, blinking slowly as he turns his gaze from Jack to Carter. “Please explain to me exactly what has occurred.”

He lets Carter do the talking, half wishing that Thor had thought to beam up some actual clothes for them because it’s taking the ship a while to warm up—Carter has visible goosebumps and is rubbing her hands up and down her arms to keep warm. His eyes track the movements, remembering the way her skin felt under his hands, and he wonders for a second what she’d do if he just steps close to her and takes over warming her arms for her.

He blinks, shaking his head a little and forcing his attention away from Carter’s tempting skin and back to the conversation. 

“I see,” Thor says when Carter winds to a stop. “This is most interesting.”

“Have you heard of something like this before?” Carter asks, a trace of concern on her voice.

“I have not. If you will allow me, I will examine you both and try to determine if there are any abnormalities to be detected.”

“Sure,” Jack agrees easily after another quick glance at Carter. “What do you want us to do?”

“Nothing,” Thor says, moving to a control panel. 

Seconds later, a bright beam of light scans over him and then Carter. Thor remains quiet, engrossed in the display above his control panel.

“Most interesting.”

“What?” Jack asks curiously, stepping towards Thor.

“It appears you and Major Carter have very similar energy signatures.”

“What does that mean?” Carter asks, more curious than worried.

“I am uncertain,” Thor admits. “Many of your physiological parameters are in synchronicity too. Observe your heart beats.”

The figures and diagrams make little sense to Jack, but the rhythmic noises and twin pulsing images on the screen are oddly familiar. Holding his fingers to his neck, he realizes his pulse is clearly in time with the readings. 

“Our heart beats are exactly in sync?” Carter asks in disbelief.

“Yes. Among other signs. For example, there is a common pattern in the markings of your brain that I can detect, as well as the matching energy signatures.”

“And that’s all unusual?” Carter clarifies.

“Very. I have not seen any two beings who share an energy signature before, much less having synchronous activity in the brain.”

“What does it mean?” There’s a hint of concern now colouring the curiosity on Carter’s voice.

“I do not know,” Thor says slowly. “I cannot see any explanation for these readings.”

“Are you sure you’ve got the readings right?” Jack asks, knowing it’s probably a dumb question.

“Yes.”

“And do we know if they’re different from normal?”

“Yes.”

“How?” Jack asks.

Thor moves his controls, and several different patterns appear on the screen. “Previous contact with yourself and Major Carter shows distinctly different energy signatures, O’Neill. I have not previously assessed your physiological status, but I have used your energy signature many times to detect your location and transport you to my ship. This time, both yours and Major Carter’s signatures were different from prior encounters, and it is the first time the sensors have not been able to tell you apart.”

They’re all silent for a time, processing Thor’s findings.

“So what does this _ mean?_” Jack asks. “Can you help us?”

Thor blinks slowly. “I do not know, O’Neill. I have not encountered this before. I do not understand how this connection was created, and I do not know how to reverse it.” 

It’s the first time Jack starts to think that maybe whatever is wrong between him and Carter can’t be fixed. Can’t be changed. If the Asgard don’t know, Jack’s not sure _ who _ would know or be able to help them. It’s disconcerting and terrifying thought, one he quickly pushes away—they _ will _ fix this. They _ have _to.

“But there is definitely something on your scans?” Carter clarifies, sounding almost as desperate as Jack is feeling right now.

“Yes. But it can not be quantified by me.”

“So what do we do now?” Jack asks when the silence drags between them again.

“I will discuss this matter with the Asgard High Council,” Thor says. “There are those among us who are more familiar with other technology, as well as human physiology. Perhaps they can offer some insight.”

“Thank you, Thor,” Carter says, sounding more confident than she looks. “We appreciate your help.”

“You are welcome,” Thor says.

“How long will-”

A bright flash of light cuts Jack’s words off. When he opens his eyes, to his horror, he finds that they are not safely back in his house. Instead Thor has beamed them into the base briefing room.

He’s still in his underwear, and Carter is clutching that delightfully short towel tightly around her. 

Jack’s gaze darts around the room; Hammond and SG-12 look about as stunned as he feels._ Crap _. There’s a flurry of movement, and Carter ducks behind him in a desperate attempt to try and conserve some of her modesty.

“This is not what it looks like,” he says hastily.


	12. Chapter 12

It’s quiet in the back seat of the government car that’s driving them home. Now dressed in spare BDUs, and away from the burning embarrassment of being beamed into the briefing room wearing not much of anything, Sam’s thoughts are racing at a hundred miles an hour.

With the knowledge that the Asgard and Tok’ra are both stumped by the link between them, she’s terrified that there is no solution. In the back of her mind she’s had the belief that the Asgard would have an answer. But if Thor has no idea… it’s difficult to maintain hope when it feels like their last resort can’t help them. Particularly with Hammond’s apologetic but clear directive that if the Asgard can’t help, then a medical discharge is coming up swiftly on their horizon.

She sighs, leaning back onto the headrest and closing her eyes.

“You okay?” the Colonel asks quietly, his fingers curling around her wrist tentatively.

It’s at the tip of her tongue to say “yes, sir”, but something stops her. 

She’s not okay. She’s not sure what she is right now, but okay is not it. Her career is all but over, and she’s struggling to comprehend what her future will hold. On top of that, she’s confused and conflicted about what’s happening between her and the Colonel, unsure if it’s driven purely by the synthetic link, or whether maybe Janet was right earlier in suggesting their subconscious’ may be taking advantage of a convenient excuse.

“Carter?”

The silence hangs between them as the car speeds toward his home; something is catching in her throat, bitter defeat and hopelessness, and she can’t seem to find the words to answer him.

As though he understands what she’s thinking—what she’s feeling—he squeezes her wrist gently and then tangles their fingers together. “We’ll fix this,” he says.

As much as he’s always had complete faith in her to save their butts, she’s always had complete faith in him and his eternal optimism. This is the first time Sam finds she’s really struggling to believe him—to maintain the same faith that he’s showing that somehow this will all be okay in the end—because she’s struggling to see any feasible way out of their current predicament. 

“Trust me, Carter,” he says. “This is not how it ends.”

But in the dark of the car, his words ring hollow around them.

By the time they arrive home, it’s late and she’s exhausted. Wordlessly, hands still joined, they walk to his room, only letting go to get ready for bed. When she curls up against him, the scent of his warm skin beneath her cheek brings to life memories of the previous night, and she finds she’s grateful for the cover of darkness hiding the blush on her cheeks. 

“Go to sleep,” he murmurs, holding her close. “Things won’t look so bad in the morning.”

When she wakes up hours later, pressed against his side and aching with need, he doesn’t protest when she skims a hand across his chest. So she slides a leg over his, brushing her thigh against the hardness of his erection. His breath escapes in a ragged sigh, arm slipping across her waist and pulling her tightly against him. 

In the dark, where she can’t see his face and remind herself that this is wrong, she rocks her hips against his thigh while she slips her hand under her panties, chasing her pleasure to try and drown out the fears and insecurities threatening to overwhelm her. Beside her, she can hear the sound of his palm moving back and forth over his length, and she grinds against him greedily, aching for what she wants but can’t have. She revels in the soft groans that are stolen from him in this dangerous game they’re playing.

Maybe she should be more concerned that her career is over and her future derailed, but right now all she cares about is his hips thrusting against hers and the hoarseness of his breath as he gets closer. All she can think about is wanting him near—having more of him—and she struggles to remember why they don’t do that. Why she’s so convinced that it’s wrong.

Afterwards, when her breaths are rapid and her pulse is hammering, he holds her close as she comes down from the rush, the scent and warmth of him wrapping safely around her. 

* * *

There’s a constant tension between them now; an awareness of the other that ranges from a pleasant tingle through to desperate arousal. Jack’s tried ignoring it, but it’s fairly difficult to ignore the constant stream of _ feeling _ that Carter’s broadcasting at him, and he’s pretty sure she’s picking up on his moods and emotions too. They haven’t spoken about this new aspect of the link between them, just like they haven’t spoken about the developing physical relationship between them either. 

It’s been two weeks now since Thor visited—even longer since they heard from the Tok’ra—and they don’t seem to be any closer to reaching a solution than what they were when they first discovered the link. Instead, waking up in the middle of the night next a sleepy, aroused Carter has become the new normal, as has pulling her closer instead of trying to keep a distance between them.

Their hands have become more confident as they explore each other’s skin; he loves the way her fingers scrape through the hair at the nape of his neck, and the press of her breasts against his chest through her shirt. His hands are drawn to the curve of her hips, and when he buries his face in the hollow of her neck; the taste of her skin anchors something he didn’t know was drifting, and he tries to draw her inside of him so that feeling never, ever fades. 

He tells himself that because they haven’t _ actually _ had sex, things are still okay. The friction of the clothing separating them reminds him of the barriers between them he’s trying desperately to ignore. 

It’s getting more and more difficult to remember the line that’s supposed to exist between them; the line that’s all but erased by their circumstances. 

* * *

They’ve reached a silent agreement to get out of the house as often as possible; desperate attempts to burn off some of the unspent energy and emotion constantly barraging them. Maybe by keeping busy they can try to avoid the collision that’s beginning to seem inevitable.

Carter takes him running at least once a day; a long trail where she runs far ahead of him until the connection between them feels tight and stretched. An uncomfortable anxiety starts building in his chest, and a familiar throbbing starts in the base of his skull. If she notices that the distance they can comfortably separate seems to be shrinking, she doesn’t say anything, and Jack remains silent because he’s not sure what they can do about it anyway. He also doesn’t tell her he hates running, because he knows she’s seeking a freedom they’ve both lost.

One time he drags her to the ice rink; it’s overfilled and chaotic with summer crowds trying to escape the blistering heat. She mostly sits by the side or picks her way carefully around the rink; he tries a few moves until his knees reminds him he’s too old for this, so they sit companionably at a table and watch the teenagers show off, hoping the icy air will cool things between them.

He’s forced to admit though, no matter what activities they dream up or excursions they undertake, nothing seems to be working. If anything, the feelings and need for each other seem to be growing stronger, as well as their ability to sense what the other is feeling. 

Right now, she’s stalking around his living room, papers in hand and muttering under her breath, destroying what little concentration he has for the game he’s trying to watch. The connection between them is crackling tonight; sparking with undercurrents of anger and frustration and lust. He tries hard to ignore the hint of skin between her sweats and tank top; pretends not to notice she’s not wearing a bra because it’s late and soon they’ll be going to bed.

Bed.

Jack swallows; whatever interest he had in the screen is obliterated at the thought of crawling into bed with Carter again. It feels like they lie in bed for hours, biding their time until it’s the middle of the night and they can roll into each other and touch what they can’t see. 

He’s tasted the skin of her shoulders and neck, and is desperate to learn the taste of her lips; he thinks maybe they don’t kiss because that would make it too real. Too intimate. But his hands know the weight of her breasts now and the softness of her skin. He’s counted her ribs with his fingers and been pressed so close to her heat he thinks he can almost imagine what it feels like to sink into her completely; he wonders if removing that final barrier will ease this building pressure between them.

She spins on the spot, slamming her papers onto the arm of the sofa and disappears into the kitchen where he can hear her crashing and slamming in the cupboards.

Jack licks his lips, trying to force his thoughts away from where they’re only too keen to take root.

He wants her. More than he’s ever wanted her. And he _ knows _ she wants him.

The problem is not regulations and rules so much as the confusion of how much of this is _ them _, and how much is driven by something outside of their control. And as much as he knows she’s aroused and frustrated and angry, he’s aware that there’s a whole host of other confused, desperate emotions he can feel that reminds him nothing about this is normal. 

The sound of shattering crockery and a curse from the kitchen has him on his feet. He finds her standing barefoot at the sink surrounded by splinters of glass, her jaw clenched with anger and eyes spitting fire.

“This is nuts,” he says. 

Her chin juts out; she looks ready to explode at him.

“I’ll get a broom. You keep still.”

He takes his time cleaning up the mess, forcing her to stay at the sink while he carefully sweeps up the fragments and splinters. As he cleans, some of the tension between them eases; the anger in her fades a little and Jack feels like he can breathe again. 

They need to get out, he thinks. They need some space.

“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand to her once he stands up. “Go get changed.”

“Where are we going?”

“Wherever you want.”

* * *

The Colonel leads her to the side of the house and stops by her Indian. In the dark, his eyes are shadows she can’t read. Through the turmoil of her own emotion she’s struggling to work out what exactly he’s feeling right now. What his intent is.

“Let’s go for a ride,” he says simply. 

There’s something inside her that twists painfully; despite everything that’s happening, this man knows her better than anyone. Knows that she needs to escape the fears that are threatening to drown her.

“It’s almost midnight,” she says, as though it matters.

He shrugs. “Shouldn’t be much traffic.”

“You ready?” she asks over the thunder of the bike once they’re on it and she’s kicked it into gear.

“Whenever you are.”

She can hear the rumble of his voice against her back and something wild leaps inside her.

The bike roars and she speeds down his drive onto the road much faster than she should. It’s almost the end of summer now and the night air is cool as it whips through her light jacket. Behind her his body is solid and warm and the heat between them keeps her from getting cold.

They ride for hours on the freedom of the open road with the rhythmic thunder of the bike around them. As each mile ticks over, she feels like one more fear gets left a little further behind. By the time she pulls back into his drive in the early hours of the morning she’s grinning like a maniac and she’s all tingles and warm heat under her skin, the thrumming of the bike adding layers to the sensations already racing through her body.

When they go to bed, she’s tired of the games and straddles him straight away instead of pretending to go to sleep first. Somewhere along the line her shirt disappears—maybe when his hands are running up her back and she’s scraping her nails through the hair on his chest. He’s hot and hard between her legs, nestled closer than ever. She rides him desperately, that aching pressure building and building, wanting something more than what they can give each other. Her underwear is soaked and the heat of him pressing up against her entrance is almost what she wants but so far from everything she needs.

She comes against him, hard.

Between them is hot and wet and the scent of them together drags at something indefinable inside her. The glide of his hands on her thighs is a balm to the ache she can’t quite understand; she climbs off him reluctantly.

They’re still silent in the dark—maybe if they can’t see each other then all of _ this _ can still be tucked away in the light of day. 

When his hand finds hers and their fingers link together, she moves willingly into his arms and lets the solid thumping of his heart lull her to sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra special thanks to Sarah_M for doing this beta JUST before Christmas, when it's the most wonderful time of year and, like, busy and all that. Extra unicorn cookies and kudos just for you!
> 
> Also, extra shout out to AmyJ10, because even though I'm not on twitter, someone showed me what your Christmas wish was (along with all those crafty little elves who were in agreement), so "Merry Sex-mas" (sort of) and hope this hits the spot, even if it's not exactly what your wish was in it's entirety!
> 
> 😁

He hasn’t been in this state of permanent arousal in since… well. Forever. Even as a teenager, he doesn’t remember things being this bad. As though that first encounter between them released some sort of a switch in his brain, Jack finds that no matter what he does, arousal is never far from the surface. He’s pleased that he’s still virile enough to experience it, but also a bit concerned, because it seems a bit over the top. A bit _ unnatural_. So he tries hard to ignore it as best as he can, particularly because whatever is happening between him and Carter seems reserved for the dark and quiet hours of bedtime, as though it’s something they’re both scared to confront. 

She changed the rules last night though, by reaching for him deliberately, rather than from that moment between dreaming and waking. And all day she’s been _ looking _ at him. 

Oh, he knows she’s looked before—he’s often caught the end of a glance that’s he’s pretty sure is not the way a subordinate usually looks at her commanding officer. 

But today has been different; she’s been looking at him in a way that has him hardening in his pants, and he’s not entirely sure what to do about it.

He knows what he _ wants _ to do about it, but it’s probably not the right plan of action at this point. It’s one thing to turn to each other in a darkened room while they’re sharing a bed; it’s a completely different thing to just press her up against the nearest hard surface in the light of day and have his way with her. 

There’s a pulse of feeling between them; a sensation he’s becoming very familiar with. When he glances over at her, she’s _ looking _ at him again, and like the well trained officer that he is, parts of him immediately jump to attention. However, when he catches her gaze she only holds his for a few seconds before breaking away, casting her eyes at the floor and biting hard on her bottom lip. It’s a clear sign of the internal conflict that mirrors his. So he sighs a little and shifts on the sofa, trying to adjust things discreetly without drawing attention to the state of matters in his pants, even though he’s pretty sure she knows exactly what’s going on down there, thanks to this new awareness of each other's emotional state. 

Maybe he should say something, he thinks, trying to focus his attention on the TV and not on the woman sitting beside him on the sofa. Maybe they actually need to talk about this. 

Maybe she wants this as much as—

“I’m going to turn in,” she says quietly, breaking into his thoughts like a bucket of ice cold water. 

A quick glance at his wrist watch shows him it’s still early. “Already?”

There’s a pink tinge on her cheeks, and he tries to ignore the tingling feeling coming from her. 

She shrugs slightly, gives him a searching look, and disappears into the bedroom, leaving him on the sofa with yet another erection in his pants and the vague feeling that he’s missed something important she was trying to tell him. 

He lasts maybe another five minutes; as much as he’s trying, the game on the screen in front of him holds no interest at all. Instead, he’s only aware of that persisting tingling, and the knowledge that it seems to be getting stronger.

He’s pretty sure this means Carter’s turned on too. And she’s just gone to his bed. 

He hardens further at the thought.

But what does it _ mean? _

Does she want him to follow? Does she want him to do something? Or is she retreating because it’s all getting to be too much?

With a huff of irritation he gets to his feet.

They need to talk about this. They need to fix this.

She’s sitting up in bed with a book, brow furrowed as she concentrates on the pages in front of her, and doesn’t look up at him.

Maybe he’s misread the situation? And the feelings? This part of relationships—the trying to work out what the other is thinking or feeling—Jack was never particularly good at. And really, is this even a relationship?

He hovers uncertainly in the doorway for a few seconds, uncomfortable and confused about her conflicting signals; the arousal coupled with her deliberate tactics of ignoring him. His own arousal is hard and tight and aching. There’s no way he can get into bed with her this worked up, especially if she’s not giving him any indication that it’s okay for them to turn to each other now.

He needs a shower, he decides. A long, cold shower. He wonders for a minute about using the spare bathroom, but something—probably the same something that often has him saying very insubordinate things at inappropriate times—prods him towards the ensuite.

There’s something thrilling about her being on the other side of the door. About her knowing what he’s about to do, while she’s right there in his bed, because really, there’s no way she can’t know what’s about to happen.

He pulls his shirt over his head and drops his sweats to the floor, freeing the tightness of his erection into the air that’s swiftly filling with steam from the shower. The water is hot against his hand when he checks the temperature; almost as hot as the heat running through his veins.

Something stops him from getting under the spray of the water. Instead, he leans against the cold glass panelling, cock gripped in his hand, and wonders what she’s doing.

He’s pretty sure he knows what’s she doing, just like she knows what he’s about to do, and he can’t understand why he’s in here and not in his bed right alongside her. His cock twitches at the thought and the current of arousal between them swells.

Maybe it’s the lust clouding his judgement; the spell of this undefined connection between them that blurs all thoughts but the need for her. This dizzying, drugged pull that he can’t seem to resist, made more compelling by the nights of physical intimacy becoming closer without actually taking the final steps.

He shuts off the water and turns to the door, fingers resting on the handle.

It’s a deliberate decision, he thinks, even though really, there was never a choice or decision to begin with; only an inevitability. 

He’s naked and aroused and he wants a woman he really shouldn’t want. And that woman is lying in his bed, ready to sleep beside him and drive him wild with her body in the depths of the dark like a dream that disappears in the light of the morning. 

The door swings open silently.

She’s lying on the bed, sheet kicked down haphazardly to her ankles. The bedside lamp casts a soft, golden glow over her skin that’s flushed with heat and lust and the dew of arousal. Her eyes are shut, and her hand is moving languidly beneath her panties in a gentle rhythmical motion.

He swallows roughly, hand finding his cock and gripping it tightly.

Oh God, he knew opening that door was both the best and worst idea he’d ever had.

Her eyes open; they’re darker than he’s ever seen them, almost in shadow. He’s never seen her in light before like this. It’s always been in the dark, and by touch alone, but now he can _ see _ her and it’s an image that will never, ever fade.

Her hand keeps moving, her gaze locked on his, and deliberately Jack strokes his hand slowly up and down the length of his cock, mimicking her tempo.

Carter’s gaze drops to between his legs, focused on the movement of his hand over his flesh. A flush rises up her neck and spreads onto her cheeks, and she bites her bottom lip. When she slides her left hand over her abdomen and slips it under her tank top, lifting it up to give him a glimpse of the smooth, pale flesh of her stomach, a ragged sigh, almost a groan, is drawn from him, and he feels his cock twitching again in his hands.

Her eyes travel back up to his and he watches as her hand circles and kneads her breast under her clothes while her other hand is still busy beneath her panties. It’s quite possibly the hottest thing he has ever seen.

She’s starting to pant a little. Her eyes slip shut, head rolls back, and her movements become more desperate. He finds his own hand becoming more and more frantic, hips starting to buck a little and his breath escaping in tell-tale little grunts.

He wants nothing more than to go over to her and touch her himself; to taste the heat between her legs and feel the weight of her breasts. To sink into that softness and drive himself into her while she shatters around him. He groans at the thought, watching her greedily as he drives his palm harder and faster over himself, leaning against the door frame for support.

A little gasp escapes her. He’s heard her come often enough now to recognize that sound. It means she’s not far from her release. His body races to catch up, the tightness building in him as he watches her drive herself closer to completion. 

She stiffens a little, eyes shut and head thrown back, the column of her throat exposed to him, and he thinks he can almost smell the scent of her in the air as she comes on his bed. His own release is almost violent—he feels as though his insides have been wrung dry and the world is spinning around him.

When he finds his center again and manages to open his eyes, she’s still lying on his bed with her hand down her front. Her eyes, still dark, taking him in with heavy lids and a dazed expression on her face.

The silence between them is deafening.

They stare at each other for long, drawn out seconds, neither speaking or breaking the stare between them.

He’s softening in his hand, so he pushes off the door frame and offers a small smile before turning around and disappearing into the bathroom to clean himself up. He deliberately leaves the door open, because maybe it’s time to start removing some of the barriers between them now, but she doesn’t follow him in.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge apologies for the lengthy delay in updates; crazy season and school holidays and new jobs are all easy to blame, but really, I've just been lazy!
> 
> Massive thanks too for Sarah because this time of year is just nuts, and she still managed to beta this for me. This chapter needed heaps of work/input, so THANK YOU for making it so much better than it was!! Many cookies and rainbows your way 🌈🌈

It’s a welcome—if unexpected—surprise when Daniel and Teal’c turn up the next morning. Sam answers the door to find them with their arms full of supplies for a cookout. She doesn’t miss the considering look Daniel gives her after he takes in her bare feet, shorts and tank-top. 

“Jack not around?” 

“He’s out the back,” Sam says when she steps back and ushers them inside. “He’ll be glad to see you guys. I think he’s getting bored.”

“What about you?” Daniel asks shrewdly, dumping the bags on the kitchen counter and opening the Colonel’s fridge with a familiarity Sam used to envy. Teal’c relinquishes his load and then disappears out the back to find the Colonel in the garden.

“I’m okay,” Sam hedges, handing over meat and beer while Daniel stacks it tidily on the shelves. “Starting to feel a little…” 

“A little what?” Daniel asks, surfacing from the fridge with two cans of soda. He pops the top on one and passes it over to her, taking a quick drink before pinning her with his gaze.

“Trapped,” Sam says eventually, but that’s not really the right word. Stifled, maybe? “I’m glad you guys came around.”

The tension between her and Colonel has been almost unbearable this morning. She’s been struggling to meet his gaze, and she’s not quite sure what to say to him, so it’s a welcome distraction to have Daniel and Teal’c around. She’s still shocked and more than a little embarrassed at the display she put on for him last night, but at the same time, she can’t seem to forget the image of him standing there, watching her, pleasuring himself while she—

“We miss you guys at work,” Daniel says easily, bringing her thoughts back to the present. “I’ve got something I need you to look at when you get back. Bill Lee’s nice, but he’s…”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. Bill’s a nice guy, but very bound by black and white interpretation of the laws of physics. “Have you got any ideas about... well... our problem?” Sam asks, grateful for the chance to focus on something other than her inappropriate and completely out of control attraction for the Colonel.

“No,” Daniel sighs. “There’s very little information in our history that’s relevant, and we haven’t had any further news from your Dad or his friends. None from Thor either.”

It’s not exactly unexpected, but the disappointment still tastes bitter. Sam takes a swallow of the soda to try and wash it away.

“Have you made any progress?” Daniel asks when she remains silent.

She sighs. “No.”

The truth is, she’s been so focused on trying not to jump the Colonel’s bones that she hasn’t really been able to concentrate on her work at all. Each time she sits in front of her laptop, she scrolls mindlessly through pages of data and notes, pretending to be engrossed, but she’s definitely not getting anywhere.

“How are things going between the two of you?” Daniel asks, voice low.

“What do you mean?” She tries hard to stamp down the panic rising in her chest at the thought that maybe Daniel knows what’s going on. It’s stupid really, how could Daniel know what’s been happening between them anyway?

“Any changes with… well. You know.”

“The connection isn’t lessening at all,” she says eventually, figuring that’s what he means, breathing a little easier when he nods encouragingly and doesn’t look like he’s going to push for more. “If anything, it’s getting stronger.” 

She doesn’t see the need to fill him in on the recent physical developments. 

“Stronger?” Daniel repeats, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“It’s harder to be apart,” Sam says eventually.

“What does Janet think?”

Sam shrugs. “We haven’t seen her for two weeks. We’re due for a check up tomorrow, I’ll talk to her about it then, but I’m not sure she can do anything about it anyway.”

Daniel frowns with concern. “Are you okay, Sam?”

She forces a smile. “Yeah,” she says. “It’s just… I’m really glad you guys are here today.”

* * *

Morning slips easily into a long, drawn out summer afternoon while they relax in the Colonel’s back yard. She’s never had any trouble enjoying the Colonel’s company, but after two weeks with no reprieve she revels in having Daniel and Teal’c with them again. It’s giving her some space to breathe, and the ability to step back a little and try to defuse some of the tension that’s been building.

“I’ve been cleared for travel,” Daniel says when there’s a lull in the conversation, and Sam realizes this is the real reason he and Teal’c have come around today. 

“Oh?” the Colonel drawls before opening a fresh beer.

“Yeah,” Daniel says. “Teal’c and I are going to be joining SG-13 tomorrow.”

There’s a tight, uncomfortable silence that settles over the back deck. Sam shoots a glance at the Colonel who’s lounging back in one of the chairs, his beer now held carelessly in his hand while he considers Daniel’s announcement. She knows, as well as Daniel and Teal’c, that Colonel O’Neill is not fond of his team members going off-world with other teams. Too often in the past it’s ended in disaster, and she feels as strongly as he does about the need for them to all be there to look out for each other.

“Dixon’s good,” the Colonel grunts eventually, and there’s a slight easing of the tension around them.

She still feels unsettled though, and when the conversation resumes amongst the men she stays silent, closing her eyes and leaning back into her chair. She tries to work out why she’s feeling so uncomfortable with the idea of Teal’c and Daniel going off-world without her and the Colonel. 

It’s not like Teal’c hasn’t been through the gate hundreds of times before without them, and it’s not like Daniel’s a stranger to it either. There’s always a little niggle of concern when someone goes off-world without the rest of the team, but what she’s feeling now is nothing like that. There’s a twist of anxiety deep inside her, completely out of proportion to the news that they’re going off-world with another SG team. 

A part of her wants to grab Daniel’s arm and ask him not to go. To beg them to wait for them and not leave them behind.

Leave them behind.

Stunned, Sam’s eyes fly open as the epiphany washes over her.

Maybe she’s not so much scared for Daniel and Teal’c going off-world, as she is scared that she and Colonel might never step through the gate again. That they’ll have to spend the rest of their lives grounded, watching their friends and colleagues heading off on missions, knowing that it will never be them again.

Or worse, she thinks darkly, a medical discharge might become a reality, effectively removing them from the program, leaving them completely cut off from anything further to do with the SGC. 

Her breath catches in her throat, anxiety continues to twists painfully in her chest, and there’s a strange sensation of time around her dragging to halt.

“Carter?”

The Colonel’s voice is muted; she’s hearing it as though he’s further away than she knows he is. She looks up blindly to see all three guys staring at her with concern.

“You okay?” 

The world around her snaps back into focus sharply, and she’s acutely aware of the silence around them.

“Yeah,” she says eventually. “I’m okay. Just…”

“Sam?”

She pushes to her feet easily, forcing a reassuring smile onto her lips. “I’m fine. I’m going to get another drink. Does anyone want one?”

The urge to escape is overpowering; she needs space to breathe and regather her thoughts.

As she makes her way to the backdoor past Daniel and Teal’c, the Colonel grabs her wrist, holding it long enough that she’s forced to meet his gaze. When she does, she sees nothing but concern and understanding there. With a jolt she realizes the feelings overwhelming her aren’t just hers; they’re his too. He feels the same fears, the same anxieties. No wonder it’s hit her so hard.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, hand slipping down her wrist and fingers tangling reassuringly with hers. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Daniel watching them with interest, and she’s suddenly very aware of all the casual touching between her and Colonel.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I’m okay. I just need a minute.”

He nods imperceptibly, squeezes her fingers, and when she takes a step towards the backdoor he lets his fingers drop away from hers; her hand feels too light and empty when she steps into the kitchen.

* * *

It’s been a while since Jack has had a day to hang out with his friends like this. For the most part, it’s been a pleasant, comfortable day with his team, and as much as it’s starting to get late, he doesn’t want the evening to end. The TV is on low in the background, barely audible over the gentle clinking as Teal’c scrapes his spoon across the bottom of his bowl, determined to get the final dregs of his ice cream.

“You don’t need to eat the bowl, T,” Jack says lazily, an age-old discussion between them. They all know there is no getting between the Jaffa and his ice cream.

Teal’c, spoon raised halfway to his mouth, raises an eyebrow and calmly eats the mouthful.

From beside him on the sofa, Carter chuckles a little, the sound easy and uncomplicated. It’s been a while since he’s seen Carter so relaxed around him, without the constant tension around her eyes as that unending awareness between them. In the company of Daniel and Teal’c, things seemed to have settled a little, and it feels nice to have some semblance of normalcy between them again, even if that means she’s not sitting quite as closely beside him on the sofa as she has for the last few nights.

“Do you want more, Teal’c?” Carter asks when Teal’c finally sets aside his bowl. It’s an unnecessary question, and even before Teal’c answers she’s unfolding herself from her seat and disappears into the kitchen. 

“So.”

Jack looks across at Daniel inquiringly, waiting for him to continue, but the archeologist stays silent, staring at Jack with raised eyebrows as though waiting for Jack to share something with him.

“So what?” Jack says when it’s evident Daniel’s not going to say anything further. Jack has a sneaking suspicion he knows where this is going.

“So you and Sam are looking pretty comfortable with each other.”

Comfortable is _ definitely _ not the word Jack would have attributed to how things are between him and Carter right now.

In lieu of not having a beer to conveniently draw on as a delaying tactic Jack turns to the TV and flicks through the channels, pretending to ignore Daniel.

“Well?” Daniel asks, a note of frustration creeping onto his voice.

“Well what?” Jack asks sighing. God, he could really go a beer right now. 

“You and Sam,” Daniel says again.

“What about it?”

“You two look very… domestic,” Daniel says finally. Jack shoots him a look, hoping to quell the conversation because really, it’s not a conversation Jack wants to be having with Daniel.

“We’re living together,” Jack says simply. “Of course it’s domestic.”

“Hmm,” Daniel says in a disbelieving tone. 

Jack ignores Daniel, staring at the screen as he flicks through the channels again.

There’s an unmistakable, quelling look from Teal’c in Daniels’ direction, and Jack feels a flutter of relief that at least one of his teammates _ gets _ it. Daniel, of course, pays it no need. 

“Things are… different now, Jack.”

“Daniel,” Jack snaps irritably. “Could you just _ not_?”

“I believe O’Neill is aware of the current situation,” Teal’c cuts in, sending another look Daniel’s way. 

“Yes. I am. Thank you, Teal’c!”

“I’m not trying to upset you. I’m just letting you know what it looks like at the moment.”

“Just what, exactly, does it look like?” Jack demands.

“Like you’re a couple now. Like you’re involved. Like you do actually live together.”

The irritation and frustration is quick to ignite, and he struggles to remind himself that this is _ Daniel_, and Daniel would never throw them under a bus.

“It’s this stupid link, Daniel. It’s making us—”

There’s movement at the doorway, and Jack stops abruptly when he sees Carter standing there with beers in one hand and ice cream carton in the other. Her face is blank, and he knows she’s overheard part of the conversation. He tries to catch her eye, but she avoids looking at him, instead heading towards Teal’c and handing him the ice cream before she passes a beer to Daniel. She gives him a beer too, but instead of sitting next to him where she’s been lounging comfortably before, she seats herself at the far side of the sofa, feet tucked up under her and careful not to touch him at all.

Irritation grows again, and he shoots a glare over at Daniel, who shrugs unapologetically before taking a draw of his beer. 

Damn it, things are complicated enough between them already without Daniel sticking his nose into it.

They remain sitting in silence for a long time after that, feigned interest in a television set that really doesn’t nothing to capture anyone’s imagination. It’s only when Teal’c finishes the ice cream and sets aside the carton that there’s movement in the room again.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel says once Teal’c has himself resettled. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. We’re just worried about the two of you.”

“We appreciate that, Daniel,” Carter says smoothly, confirming Jack’s suspicions that she overheard a significant amount of Daniels’ interrogation. “It’s not a comfortable situation for either of us, and we’re trying to deal with it as best as we can.”

Daniel looks like he wants to pursue the conversation; there’s a familiar wrinkle on his brow and look in his eye, but thankfully he keeps his mouth shut—no doubt the sharp look Teal’c angles at him has something to do with it.

It’s not much later when Teal’c stands and looks meaningfully at Daniel. As much as Jack has enjoyed the company, he’s now relieved that it’s time for the guys to go. Carter’s still sitting awkwardly on the far end of the couch, and he very much feels that with Daniel’s interfering things have become uncomfortable between them again.

They wave the guys off together, standing outside on his driveway in the lengthening shadows. Maybe if Daniel hadn’t prodded tonight and made it all awkward, he’d have slipped his arm around her shoulders and stood close beside her as they watch the car disappear down the road. But right now they’re standing feet apart, and he really doesn’t like the distance.

“Hey, Carter?” he says as they make their way back inside.

“Yeah?” 

“If I had to get linked with anyone, I’m glad it’s you.”

There’s a look in her eyes he can’t decipher when she glances over at him, and he wonders what it means. He thinks maybe it means they’re okay, because even though she curls up on the far side of the sofa she lets her feet rest against his thighs. The contact eases some of the worries that Daniel stirred up.

* * *

They’re still sitting on the couch long after Daniel and Teal’c have left. Carter’s slowly drifted towards him again, so that her back is wedged against his side and her legs are tucked up as a support for the journal article she’s engrossed in. He much prefers it when she’s sitting close to him; it’s as though with her pressed against him the constant tension in the link seems to hum with contentment. When she’s on the far side of the sofa he feels almost bereft. 

He’s still flicking aimlessly through channels when a flash of skin on the screen catches his eye; it’s the start of a sex scene in some movie, with a kissing couple backing up against a wall. 

He goes to change the channel, but Carter’s hand is suddenly on his wrist, so he pauses, leaving the images of the couple and their exposed skin on the screen. It’s far from graphic, far from erotica, but her gaze is riveted on the screen, captivated by the heated kissing on the screen. Her lips are slightly parted and her eyes seem to have darkened; it’s an expression he’s now intimately familiar with and will always recognise. 

Despite himself, he hardens, the ache that is never quite sated springing to life with very little encouragement.

They’ve kept a pretty careful and unspoken ‘hands above the waist’ distance so far, so he’s almost hesitant, but when she licks her lips as the kissing on screen intensifies his right arm drifts down around her shoulders and his hand settles high up on her sweat pant clad thigh. There’s a thud as her journal hits the floor beside the couch. For a moment he worries he’s overstepped, but she sighs and closes her eyes, relaxing against him.

Slowly, intentionally, he moves his hand further along her leg until his fingers settle over her center in a way that leaves it clear exactly what he intends to do. Her hips push encouragingly against his hand, and even through the cotton he can feel her heat; feel that rush awareness inside he’s learning to associate with her arousal. Deliberately he drags his fingers up and finds the waistband of her sweats. He pauses there, waiting, until she tips her head back restlessly against his shoulder. 

She’s hot and wet and gloriously slick. He wants nothing more than to push her back against the sofa and slide himself home into her, but the sight and feel of her falling apart under his fingers make it impossible to stop. She’s writhing against him now, eyes closed and breath ragged as he works his fingers over her.

When her hand brushes over him through his sweats and grasps his hard length the groan that escapes him is involuntary. It doesn’t take long before her hand has slid beneath his clothing as well. She drags her palm up and down his length, an erratic rhythm that mimics the grinding of her pelvis into his hand, and the air is thick with the scent of their arousal; a scent that Jack’s becoming well acquainted with. 

He drags his lips and teeth against the length of her neck, and a low moan escapes her control. He does it again, then cups a breast through her shirt, his thumb catching against her nipple. There’s another breathless moan. And when he nips the skin behind her ear, she’s pulsing around his fingers, hot and wet and shuddering in his arms. She gasps his name on a low moan, and the sound of it—_ Jack_—is enough to finish him too.

They sit on the couch until they stop shaking, his hand still in her pants and hers around his softening cock. The movie has long since moved onto other, unimportant scenes. When she finally lets go of him he does the same, and she gets up wordlessly and disappears into the bathroom. He’s left sitting on the couch with a mess on his crotch and the scent of her all over his fingers.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know how to convey to you all how fabulous Sarah is, and how much of this chapter you owe to my amazing beta. 
> 
> For those of you in quarantine/self-isolation, I hope this helps fill a little of that empty time. I hope you and all your families stay safe,and well xx

The Kleenex has been twisted and pulled to soft shreds that are disintegrating between her fingers. Sam scrunches it into a ball and hides it in her fist.

“It’s certainly a difficult situation,” Janet says eventually, breaking the silence that has settled between them.

“That’s all you have to say?” Sam demands, finally looking up to meet Janet’s gaze. 

Janet shrugs. “Well, it’s not exactly a problem we’ve ever encountered before, Sam.”

Sam sighs in frustration and lobs the scrunched up tissue toward the small bin in the corner of Janet’s office. She misses the shot by a mile, the tissue landing limply on the floor not far from her feet. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she says finally. “I can’t think straight anymore. I keep reminding myself that we _ can’t _ do this. That we _ shouldn’t _ be doing this. But I can’t stop myself. It’s like a drug and I just crave another hit.”

“Why shouldn’t you do it?” Janet asks curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, why is it so wrong? Technically, neither of you are on the same team anymore. In fact, neither of you are on active duty at the moment, so there’s no direct regulations or command conflicts that make this wrong.”

Sam stares at Janet for a long moment. “I know that. But what about when this is all fixed,” she says, waving her hand in the air. “What do we do when this problem is solved and it’s time to go back to work?”

“Sam,” Janet says gently, her expression softening. “Do you really think that we’re going to solve this problem in the near future? Even if we do, given everything that’s happened already, do you really think that the two of you will be reinstated in the same chain of command again?”

Sam’s mouth is dry; hearing it said out loud is like a kick in the guts.

“I keep hoping…”

Janet pushes the box of Kleenex over toward her and waits until there’s another flimsy piece of tissue clutched between her anxious fingers.

“Is there any sign or indication that the connection is fading?”

Sam scoffs. “If anything, it’s getting stronger.”

“How?”

“The distance we can separate is decreasing. We haven’t tried being apart for long periods, but I suspect that will have decreased too. Also, I can’t read his mind,” she says carefully, “but I know…”

Sam shifts in her chair; this conversation is more personal than she’s comfortable sharing. 

“You know what?”

Sam frowns in thought, searching for the right description. “I get these sensations. Feelings. Like a suggestion of what he’s experiencing.”

“In what way?”

“Maybe emotionally is a good word?” She says thoughtfully. “I can tell when he’s asleep. Or when he’s annoyed because he can’t do the last few words on the crossword. How he likes being outside in the yard.”

Janet raises an eyebrow sceptically. “We can all tell those things.”

Sam sighs. “Maybe I’m not explaining it well. I can tell how he’s feeling, because I _ also _ feel that feeling. Not completely, like my own feelings, but I just get this awareness from him. Particularly when he’s having... strong feelings.”

“Strong feelings?” Janet asks, her lips twitching.

Sam shoots her a look. “It’s part of the problem, Janet. I’m so aware of his physical state, and I’m pretty sure he’s aware of mine. It’s like we keep setting each other off and finding ourselves in these… _ situations. _ And then those feelings just get more and more intense until we’re overwhelmed by them.”

Sam’s words hang in the air between them. She feels uncomfortable and exposed by admissions of just how physical her relationship with the Colonel has become. Janet stares at her for a long moment, face unreadable, and then finally lets out a soft sigh as her lips pull into a small smile. Sam can almost feel the sympathy and support across the desk between them, and a wave of relief washes over her. 

“Sam,” Janet says gently. “Did you ever think that maybe he _ wants _ to be in those situations too?”

Sam blinks. “Well. Maybe. I don’t know. Because that’s the problem—how much of what’s happening between us is because of this connection, and how much of it is actually _ us_?” And it’s something Sam hasn’t let her thoughts dwell on, because the reality is, _ none _of what was happening should have been because of personal feelings.

Janet sits back in her chair, giving her a knowing look. “Have you considered talking about it?”

Yes, that would be the sensible thing to do, Sam acknowledges. Definitely the mature thing to do. To discuss the constant sexual awareness between them and the apparent ease with which they’re becoming physically intimate with each other. 

“Talk to him, Sam,” Janet says firmly. “And, once you’ve cleared the air, there’s no need for you to keep denying yourself, right?” she adds with a mischievous smile.

The words turn over in her head a few times. It’s amazing how simple it really is, Sam thinks, staring at Janet in a kind of wonder.

“Okay, yeah, we’ll just... clear the air,” Sam repeats with a nod.

* * *

Except, she was never really good at being the grown up in relationships, and talking about these things was never really a strong point for her or the Colonel.

All day she’s had the buzz of arousal following her around, rippling under her skin. Each time he touches her—and since Daniel’s comments the previous night, she realizes he touches her a lot—it’s like a small bolt of electricity adding to the heat pooling low in her belly. 

All she wants to do is get home so she can touch him. Now that Janet’s pointed out there’s nothing to stop them, it’s all she wants to do. Nothing else seems to matter anymore.

Annoyingly, the more desperate she is to get him on his own, the more he seems to find excuses to keep them out of his house, dragging her all around Colorado Springs on some inane scavenger hunt for obscure items she cannot fathom that he needs. By the time he finally points the truck towards his home, the sun is hanging low in the sky and she could just about scream with frustration.

* * *

He’s hiding in the kitchen again, having ushered Carter purposefully into the living room to try and get some breathing space by telling her he’ll take care of the scant dishes left over after their take-out dinner. The illusion of distance doesn’t really give him a reprieve; the air between them is still veritably _ thrumming _ with tension from her, and no matter what he tries to tell himself, there’s no mistaking the fact that the bulk of that tension seems to be sexual in nature.

Jack’s not stupid. He’s pretty sure she’s spoken to Fraiser about what’s been happening between them, and he wonders what Fraiser has said to her to have her worked up in this state.

He swallows, pretending to rinse the same bowl again and again to buy some time before he has to go back into the living room with her.

It’s not like he doesn’t want her. God knows he wants her. Desperately. More painfully than he ever thought possible. All day she’s been broadcasting these _ feelings _ at him, and it’s taking every ounce of his will power to pretend to ignore those feelings and not act on them.

His bank account has certainly carried the brunt of his frustrations today, with several redundant and expensive purchases made in an attempt to stall getting home with her, because he doesn’t trust himself not to push her up against the wall and just drive himself into her.

There’s a surge of heat in his groin and a groan escapes from his throat.

God, he _ wants _ her.

But he’ll be damned if he puts her in a position where she can’t say no because of some alien connection driving common sense from her mind. He wants it to be completely, one hundred percent consensual, with no question of compromised judgement.

Frustrated, worked up and pissed off, he pulls the plug out of the sink with more force than necessary before wiping his hands dry on his pants. 

No way can he go sit next to her in the living room in this state. Not with the aching, very prominent evidence of his arousal so obvious right now. Especially when the level of arousal from her seems to be increasing almost exponentially—he’s not sure he can cope with much more of this.

He lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding in a deep sigh, takes a moment to steel himself, and decides he needs to head straight for the shower.

His water bill is going to be huge given all the showers he’s having.

There’s a moment as he’s about to bypass the living room that he questions his sanity: a gorgeous, amazing woman that he’s wanted for years is sitting on his sofa, and he’s all but certain she’s very willing to have sex with him. Meanwhile he’s slinking away to the shower to try and avoid having to face her. What the hell is wrong with him?

As though his feet aren’t controlled by his body, he finds himself stopping at the doorway to the living room. Carter’s curled up on the sofa, all but in the dark except for the soft golden light of a single lamp washing over her. She looks ethereal and far, far too tempting. Especially when she lifts her gaze and meets his openly, holding it with a question he’s never seen written so clearly in her eyes. Everything in him, every part of him wants to answer that question. Wants to walk into that room and reach for her and annihilate the last threads of sanity holding him back.

But he can’t. He can’t do that to her. He _ won’t _ do that to her.

Because even though he’s convinced what’s happening between them is so much more than just this alien connection, he still wonders how he can be so sure of that. Because if it wasn’t just all this connection, why didn’t anything happen years ago?

_ Because of regulations_, he thinks, still staring at her on the sofa. Regulations, and duty and respect.

Except now it looks like regulations will cease to be a barrier, because there’s no way Jack can see the two of them serving on the same team again. Even if nothing further happens, this has changed everything between them, and things have gone too far already.

So why doesn’t he just walk into the room, and do what her gaze and the feelings in the connection are telling him she wants? 

Because he still respects her, and that’s why he’d never want to put her in a position where it wasn’t completely her choice.

Swearing under his breath, he closes his eyes and steps backwards, away from the draw of the soft light and the woman on the sofa, and the blurred line between making the right decision or not. The sharp stab of hurt from her spears right through him as he turns his back on her and walks away. The weight of the rejection is so heavy on his shoulders he almost struggles to draw a normal breath.

The bathroom is cold and empty and it feels wrong to have left her without a word when she’s all but made him an offer that he’s refused. He hasn't even given her an explanation or apology.

He shouldn’t _ have _ to give her an explanation, he tries to tell himself, yanking the taps open with more force than necessary. She _ knows _ why they can’t do this. Why they shouldn’t do this. But it doesn’t change the hurt still thrumming through the bond.

All he can see as he tests the spray of the water, is the look on her face while he stood in the doorway. And all he can feel now is the ache of rejection and terror that things are falling apart between them. 

Suddenly Jack isn’t sure what’s worse: giving in to the obvious connection between them, or to keep trying to deny it. By denying it, he’s essentially rejecting her. Right now the connection feels as strong as ever—rejection isn't dimming it all—and Carter’s hurt and his desperation to do the right thing isn’t changing anything.

He hesitates, and then in a moment of weakness pushes the bathroom door open wide in invitation; a passive gesture he knows she’d understand should she choose to take him up on the offer. And he knows by the subtle change in the connection, that she can feel something has changed too.

He eases himself in under the hot spray of the shower and waits to see what she does. He tries hard to ignore the prickle of guilt that he’s not fighting this as hard as he should.

* * *

Sam pauses in the threshold of the bedroom, staring at the door of the ensuite: it’s standing wide open. Her heart beats a little faster in her chest. What could it be but an invitation? She swallows down her doubts before she can second guess herself, and steps into the bathroom, desperate to ease the throbbing ache between her legs and in her soul.

The shower screen is pulled closed, and she can see his blurred form through the condensation on the glass. His back is to her, face upturned into the spray, hands braced on the wall in front of him. Through the foggy glass she can’t tell if he’s defeated or just relaxing under the spray, but knowing he’s _right there_ causes a hitch in her breath and the desire to see more. She peels her clothes off quickly, then pauses with her hand on the glass panelling; she’s so wet already it would be almost embarrassing if she wasn’t so desperate for him. 

With a deep breath she pulls open the door and a billow of warm steam greets her; it smells like him. Something low inside her tightens with anticipation. But she hesitates now that she’s on the brink of changing things irrevocably. 

There’s a pause that feels like eternity while she hovers on the threshold of that change, before he finally turns around to look at her. When their eyes meet it feels like her heart stops in her chest; his gaze is dark and unreadable and for a second she thinks she’s misjudged things terribly, because he does nothing but watch her while the hot air around him billows and swirls past her, out of the open shower door. 

Suddenly uncomfortable, she drops her gaze and inadvertently it lands on his nakedness. It’s not the first time she’s seen his erection, but the sight of it assures her that none of these feelings are one sided. There’s a sharp, sudden jolt of arousal between them again, and when she lifts her eyes back up to his, she finds his gaze tracking slowly, almost desperately across her body. The knowledge that he’s looking at her as thoroughly as she’s just looked at him sends another rush of heat arrowing down through her abdomen and coiling low in her pelvis.

There’s resignation and fire and inevitability in his eyes when they finally meet hers again, and he sighs little before offering a small nod of acquiescence.

“Get in, you’re letting out all the heat.”

The stall is large enough to fit them both, but not big enough to leave a lot of space. Even though they’re standing apart, it feels like there’s an electrical current running between them; her nerves sing when she brushes against his wet skin, sharp prickles of excitement tingling at the fleeting contact.

“Soap?” he asks, and she marvels that he sounds so _ ordinary_. So _ comfortable _ when she’s almost out of her mind with wanting him. She doesn’t want soap, she wants _ him_. 

“Yeah,” she says, wondering if her voice sounds as ragged as it feels, and holds out her hand.

But he doesn’t give her the soap. Instead he squirts some onto his palms, rubs them together, and carefully rests his hands on her shoulders. The touch of him is like fire and wet silk on her skin, her pulse roaring through her veins like a tidal wave as her heart lurches in her chest, and she realizes this is it. This is where they give in to the inevitable. And by God she’s waited for it long enough.

She breathes in deeply—the steam and soap and smell of him fills her.

She wants to reach up and wrap herself around him, but his hands are moving down her arms excruciatingly slowly, and she’s frozen under his touch—spellbound. His simple caress slides across her skin, spreading the lather toward her wrists. His hands are the only point of contact between them; her body sways towards his as though drawn to it, aching for the feel of him against her.

When she tries to lift her hands towards him he encircles her wrists with his fingers, catching her in a loose hold at her waist while stares down at her.

There’s something hesitant in his dark gaze, as though he’s searching her for something—maybe for a surety they both need? She stops trying to reach for him, instead leaning back against the wall and surrendering to whatever it is that he needs from her right now.

He breathes out, a release of emotion, and then his calluses scrape softly across the sensitive skin of her inner wrists as he changes his hold on her, his touch turning from restraint to caress again. The feel of his rough skin tracing over the palms of her hands is enough to make her lose track of anything but the feelings he’s stirring inside her, and she draws in a shaky breath, shifting restlessly against the cool tiles. Slowly, gently, he drags his hands up her arms; time stands still while she waits for his fingers to find their next destination.

_ When did she close her eyes_? she wonders, tipping her head back as his palms cup her jaw and his thumbs stroke gently over her cheeks. And since when has she ever been so saturated with sensation purely by such innocent touching?

Trailing fingers slide along the curve of her neck, across her chest and down to her breast. She pushes into his touch, groaning when his fingers tug gently at her nipple before he cups it and massages it with his palm. She can feel more slick heat spreading between her legs; it has nothing to do with the shower they’re in, and everything to do with his touch.

This time when she reaches for him, he doesn’t stop her. Her fingers glide across his waist and she pulls him closer. He steps willingly into her space, closing the distance between them, and then the heat of his skin is pressed against her, wet and warm and _ him_. For a moment her chest is tight with the knowledge that this is happening. This is him, naked and hard against her hip, and she wonders why she ever doubted this. Doubted them. Another rush of heat pools between her legs and she clenches involuntarily, aching with emptiness.

“Carter,” he whispers, his breath hot against the wet skin of her neck. “Look at me.”

She forces her eyes open to meet his gaze; all she can see is him. All she can feel is him. A dizzying, drugging sense of being totally surrounded by him.

The hand on her breast drops away and she wants to protest it’s loss, her nipple aching and abandoned. Until his fingers skim down her hip and slip between her folds.

“Oh,” she moans, struggling to keep her eyes open, wrapping her hands around his upper arms to keep herself steady. Every breath is an effort now and she drags them in almost painfully, forcing the air into her lungs when all she wants to do is fall apart right there and then.

His fingers move slowly while his eyes hold her gaze; when his fingers brush against her bundle of nerves a gasp is stolen from her and her eyes slip closed again. She can’t look at him right now. It’s too much. Instead she leans back against the wall and hooks a leg around the back of his thigh, giving him better access.

His teeth and lips graze where her neck meets her shoulder while he keeps a slow and steady pressure building with his fingers. Her hips rock against his; his erection pressing tantalizingly into her belly. She reaches for his length blindly, but he catches her hand before she gets to it, holding it loosely against the tiles behind her.

“Not yet,” he breathes under her chin before the scrape of his stubble sears the sensitive skin. 

A single finger slides deep inside her and all she can feel is him moving, the hot water still washing down over them, and the heat of his breath beneath her ear. Then his thumb presses on her clit, and she falls apart in his arms, fingers digging into the skin of his back as she spirals out of control in what feels like a lightning storm of sensation.

When she finally opens her eyes again he’s dropping open mouthed kisses across her shoulders. She lifts a hand to tangle her fingers in his wet hair, letting him know she’s recovered. He moves his hand from between her legs and slides it over the thigh still hooked across his, tugging to change her position. She lifts her leg higher to help him until she can feel him nudging her entrance.

“Carter,” he says again. His voice is raspy and sounds like the water washing over them. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yes,” she breathes into his neck before tasting the water and skin over his pulse. “God, yes.”

He slides in slowly, and for the briefest moment that desperate, deep aching inside her seems to settle. She sighs against his neck, eyes closed, savouring the feel of him stretching her and the burning in her thighs as they pause briefly.

Then he moves, and she forgets about everything except the feel of him inside her, the way his fingers are digging into her leg and his free hand is buried in her hair. She wraps her arms around him, trying to drag him as close as possible to her—she needs more—so that she’s pressed between him and the cold tiles behind her back.

He grunts when her fingers dig into his shoulder blades, shifting a little so the angle deepens, and Sam loses track of space and time as the universe narrows down to the feel of him against her, and in her, and around her. Then that white fire is racing through her again and she’s convulsing around him while he jerks against her. There's nothing but pleasure and liquid heat and the feeling that she’s flying.

Afterwards, her leg slides bonelessly back down his hips and he slips out of her, leaving her empty and breathless. His head rests beside her against the tiles, the weight of his body leaning heavily into hers. It’s only then that Sam realizes the water is starting to cool down and that desperate, aching need for him is still there, wanting to be filled again and again and again.

His hands run up and down her arms soothingly while hers loosely hold his waist. He sighs then, a deep sigh she can’t quite interpret, and moves so that his forehead is resting in the crook of her neck and his breath is warming the skin of her chest.

“Water’s getting cold,” she says, because she’s not sure what else to say, running an aimless hand up the hot, firm skin of his back.

She feels him press a soft, gentle kiss to her neck before letting go and shutting off the water. When they step out of the stall, it’s both familiar and uncomfortable to share the space with him, and despite the steam the air feels cool as it swirls around them. 

Is it really all just this link between them? Is it a purely physical, sexual connection now that’s driving these changes?

She studies him surreptitiously while she dries herself, taking in the lean lines of his body. Her eyes linger over the slightly paler areas of skin she’s never really had a good look at—_ God he’s hot_.

She’s so busy staring at him she doesn’t notice he’s stopped moving until his voice breaks into her thoughts.

“Carter?”

“Sir?”

The honorific is jarring as it falls from her lips, shattering the pretence of intimacy that had settled over them. She swallows nervously, suddenly very aware of her own nakedness and all the things they haven’t spoken about still lingering between them.

The silence builds uncomfortably.

He scrubs a restless hand through his still-damp hair and sighs again. 

“Are we okay?” he asks finally, looking as uncomfortable as she feels.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” she deflects. Apparently he’s not the only one who’s good at avoiding things. After all, they’ve both been very good at not talking about their new nocturnal activities; why not just avoid talking about the sex too?

“We just had sex in my shower. And then you called me ‘sir’.”

Yes, they definitely have some issues.

“You called me ‘Carter’.”

The silence drags out and he huffs out a sigh again. “I didn’t want…”

“Didn’t want what?” she asks, when his words trail away.

“I don’t want to take advantage of the situation. Of you.”

She gapes at him, stunned. “How could you even think that? If anything, it’s this alien connection between us. You’d never… I’d never…”

He flinches a little at her words, and Sam shakes her head, struggling to clear it. 

“Sir, up until this connection started, we’ve always maintained our professionalism. I have no reason to doubt your integrity or your intentions. Or mine,” she says stiffly. 

“Then could you stop calling me ‘sir’?” he says irritably. 

“What do you want me to call you?” she snaps back.

“Most people call me Jack.”

She knows that. It just feels… strange. Forbidden. Too intimate for them.

“For crying out loud, Carter. We’ve had sex. You’re allowed to use my first name.”

She knows that too. She’s used his name plenty of times before. It’s just that using his given name now feels like one more step closer to acknowledging the end of her career, and one step closer to admitting defeat. One step closer to admitting the life she had before is all but over. 

As though having sex hasn’t all but obliterated that anyway. 

She bites on her lip, trying to sort through the churning mass of fears and worries and shame that are already cooling her skin and feeding the anxiety still balled up tightly in her chest. 

It’s done now, she thinks, and at this point, clinging to their ranks is a flimsy attempt at holding a barrier in place that she’s not even sure she wants there anymore.

“Okay. I’ll try.” 

She swallows hard. And then, as though it’s some kind of symbolic gesture, she deliberately moves the towel she’s been shielding herself with and hangs it onto the rail next to his, so that they’re both standing bare and vulnerable in front of each other.

She watches his gaze dip again, and then rise back to meet her eyes almost defiantly, as though he’s making a point of looking at her and _ not _ hiding his attraction.

Between them the bond stirs again, but it’s a sluggish stirring as though still sated, and she feels a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“C'mon,” he says, holding out his hand. “Let’s go to bed.”

When she’s curled up in his arms, naked and warm against his skin, he presses a gentle, sleepy kiss to the side of her temple. The gesture soothes some of the unsettled worries still whispering in her thoughts as she drifts off to sleep. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to the amazing Sarah_M for her brilliant and wonderful and most excellent beta skills.
> 
> Also for just being awesome in general.

The next morning he’s disappointed to find her in the kitchen fiddling with the coffee machine—he’d been half hoping to roll into her, all soft and sleepy and warm, but the bed had been empty. He’s sorry to see she’s dressed—albeit in one of his flannel shirts—because it puts an end to the fleeting idea of simply dragging her back to bed. Then the day suddenly seems a lot brighter when she reaches up into the cupboard for a mug and he realizes she’s not wearing any underwear.

There’s a lot they left unsaid last night; they had sex and then got into bed and when he woke up this morning she was gone. But she’s here in his shirt—and apparently nothing else—which sends, to his way of thinking, a reasonably clear message. He takes a moment to watch her while she starts the coffee machine, seemingly oblivious to his arrival until she asks, “You want some?” 

“Oh yeah.” Because he’s a male and alive, and she’s right in front of him not wearing any underwear, he can’t help himself. He steps up close behind her, drops his hands to her waist and presses his swiftly developing erection into the swell of her backside. There’s a sharp spike of arousal that rushes through him at the contact; some is his and some is definitely hers.

“I meant coffee,” she says, but he can hear the smile on her voice as she pushes back against him encouragingly. She lifts a hand up and slides it around the back of his neck, running her fingers through the hair at his nape while he gently nips at her earlobe; there’s a wonderful rush of heat between them at the contact. He slips his hand around her waist, travelling down between her legs and finds her already wet for him. When he flicks at her bundle of nerves the small gasp that escapes does interesting things to his imagination. He does it once more just to hear her make that noise again.

She rocks her hips against his fingers restlessly, the hand she had around his neck drifting down to brace herself on the cupboard as she leans over it. It’s so easy to slide his length against her, to feel her wetness. It’s even easier to slide into her heat. He pauses, closing his eyes and savouring both the feeling and the knowledge that this is happening. Again. He can’t believe they waited so long for _ this. _

Carter pushes back against him impatiently..His fingers dig into her hips and he thrusts slowly. Again. And again. And that aching emptiness he’s been striving to fill once more retreats somewhere into the distance. His world narrows down to the woman in front of him, and the way she feels around him as he pushes slowly and deliberately into her.

It’d be embarrassing how quickly he comes, how almost desperately he falls apart against her, but she’s shuddering right there with him, a ragged moan drawn from her as her thighs tremble beneath his hands.

Afterwards he braces himself on the cupboard, still leaning over her, buried in her, catching his breath as sweat rapidly cools against his skin. He’s thinking he should turn her around and kiss her when the timer on the coffee machine beside them sounds loudly; only then does he become aware of the rich scent of the brew in the air. She stirs against him and he moves away, slipping out of her when he steps back. In the coolness of the late summer morning he feels cold with the absence of her skin against his.

“Are we okay?” he asks when she turns around, cheeks flushed, tugging the shirt back down over her hips.

“Why wouldn’t we be?” she asks with a small smile. But the smile looks a little strained, and there’s a hint of uncertainty between them—he’s not sure whether it’s his feelings or hers, but he tries to ignore it as that seed of apprehension between them seems to grow.

It doesn’t escape him that it’s the second time they’ve said these exact words to each other, and he wonders if neither of them want to acknowledge that maybe things aren’t okay. 

Probably because he _ wants _ this to be okay.

* * *

Later that morning he’s finishing off the last of the trimming and pruning. It’s been a long time since he’s had this much time at home to really get on top of the yardwork, and it feels good to have both his and Carter’s yards under control and ready for the next season. The shears slice through the final branch and he steps back to admire his handiwork. The late August sunshine is still warm enough to raise a sweat, and absently he drags his forearm over his face, wiping away sweat and bark and grit gathered after a morning of hard work.

There’s a twist in his belly, and a sharp stab of lust that hits him out of nowhere; he’s been so focused on his gardening that it takes him a moment to remember the connection he and Carter share. The connection he’s been trying so hard—and so successfully this morning—to ignore. Except now it’s flaring hotly again, unexpectedly, and he wonders if this is all coming from her.

She’s been working on her bike today, and he’s made a point of not looking at her, because the sight of her in that tiny tank top and cut off denim shorts draped over the motorcycle in his driveway is more than he can handle. Especially because he’s now intimately acquainted with what’s hiding under that clothing.

There’s a stirring in his groin and he takes a minute to marvel that he’s ready to go again. And clearly Carter is too, because suddenly she’s pressed up against his back, her hands snaking around his hips and pausing at the waistband of his shorts.

Then her hands are in his shorts, gripping his rapidly hardening length right there in his backyard. His yard is reasonably private, and as much as the feel of her hands on his skin is making his knees buckle, and the heat of her tongue on his neck makes him want to forget where they are, he’s acutely aware that anyone could see them right now. So he grabs her wrist and tugs, towing her towards the garage. The door is hardly shut behind them before she’s pushing his pants down and he’s working the button on her shorts.

It’s rough and messy and frantic; they don’t even stop to consider the tools and equipment carelessly swept out of the way when he lifts her onto the bench. He takes her hard right there in his shed, sprawled across his workspace like a wet dream, legs wrapped around his waist and head thrown back as she leans back onto her arms. Her breasts are still covered by the tanktop, and he wants desperately to push the fabric aside, to taste the skin that’s hidden, but she feels too good wrapped around him and they come before they’ve even really started. 

He thinks it’s telling that afterwards they hardly meet each other's eyes once they eventually separate.

* * *

They plan a trip to the store for lunch and some supplies. She’s changed into a light summer dress that flirts with her thighs and drapes perfectly over her breasts, with strappy little heels completing the picture. Before he’s fully aware of it she’s bent forwards over the back of the sofa with her dress pushed up over her hips and he’s fucking her like he’s dying; he has no idea what happened to her underwear. 

They never make it into town. Instead they nap on the sofa and when the afternoon light turns golden they call for takeout. 

Later, when he’s on the sofa doing the crossword after dinner, another bolt of lust strikes through him. There’s hardly time for him to consider just how much sex they’ve had today already before she’s straddling his lap, and the thought is forgotten even before it’s really taken hold. Then she’s riding him into oblivion and there’s no thinking, just feeling: her hands digging into his shoulders, flushed and desperate as they chase their pleasure trying to fill that aching void between them again. 

Afterwards when she’s draped across his chest, her heart hammering against his, he runs his hands soothingly up and down her back—the contact for her as much as him. Eventually the roiling mass of emotions between them settles back to a simmer that’s bearable, and she moves as though she’s ready to separate. But he holds her in place with his hands, wanting her close for just a little longer this time.

She turns her head towards him and tucks her face against his neck, curling up against him easily. The aftermath seems to be getting easier, he thinks to himself, enjoying the feel of her against him. Or maybe they’re both becoming better at ignoring the awkwardness.

By the time they turn in he’s lost count of how many times they’ve had sex, and at his age (or any age really) it’s very empowering. He’s exhausted and spent when they finally make it to bed for actual sleep. 

The bedroom is dim, but there’s enough streetlight spilling in through the open window to paint her profile in soft silver and grey where she’s sleeping on the pillow next to him. He knows Carter’s an attractive woman—it’s been particularly hard to ignore more recently than ever before—but right now it’s abundantly clear just how damn _ beautiful _ she is. Frowning, he traces a finger over her lips, featherlight, and wonders why it is that they haven’t kissed. It seems wrong.

Just before he drifts off he has the uncomfortable thought that despite all the incredible sex they’ve had in the last twenty four hours, somehow he still feels just as uncertain and just as hesitant with her as he did yesterday.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, Kudos to Sarah_M for being truly awesome, and for making sure people weren't locked in the bathroom for two weeks.
> 
> 😘😘
> 
> Also, there were probably more things that needed to be tweaked/fixed, but I got impatient, so all errors and rushed bits are all my own fault!!

The sex becomes more frantic—more desperate—and the aching need becomes harder to sate.

They manage a single run for supplies, and then give up all pretence of even wanting to leave the house. They spend their days in limbo, waiting until the arousal builds enough to try and fill the void between them. For someone who has never been good at being under house arrest, he’s surprisingly unfazed by the self-imposed captivity. 

He notices Carter, who’s normally bouncing off the walls with pent up energy, is happy to simply lay on the sofa with a book or sit at her laptop. He’s not sure if she’s working or what she’s doing, but he finds himself trying to distract her by deliberately thinking about sex, and then waits to see how long it takes her to resist while he waits on the other side of the room. He knows she’s well aware of the game that he’s playing; he can see it by the way her lips twitch and posture becomes a little stiff. Inevitably, whatever it is she’s been doing is forgotten for a time when one of them finally ends the stalemate.

He finds it frustrating and somewhat revealing that despite him telling her not to—and all the sex they’ve had since then—she still calls him sir. Then again, he still calls her Carter; he wonders when she’ll realize it’s because he fell in love with Carter, the woman who can blow up suns and rewrite the laws of physics. He hasn’t really gotten to know Sam, because Carter’s kept her hidden from him, but the glimpses of her are just as fascinating as Carter is.

Life narrows down to the basics—eating, sleeping, and lots of sex—and while part of Jack wonders why they’ve fought this for so long, there’s another part of him that’s still holding out. It catches him out at odd times with the uncomfortable thought that something is still not right. But when Carter’s riding him with her head thrown back and skin flushed with need, it fades into the background, and all he can focus on is the drugging warmth of the connection between them and the knowledge that he never, ever wants to let her go.

* * *

She aches and burns pleasantly almost everywhere. Her arms and legs feel heavy with endorphins, and all she wants to do is curl up and sleep against him. Again.

With his heart beat against her ear echoing the rhythm of her own, Sam struggles against the desire to simply lay against him and never move away again. His hands, tracing idle patterns up and down the length of her back, don’t make it easy to find the motivation to get up.

But she needs to get up.

“Where are you going?” he asks, hands tightening on her hips to try and keep her against him.

She relaxes briefly as his lips wander down her neck and shoulder. She nuzzles him in turn, tasting the sweat on the skin over his still racing pulse. A soft hum of contentment escapes him as her lips brush over his skin, so she grazes the angle of his jaw with her teeth, scraping lightly against the stubble that’s left sensitive patches all over her skin.

She can feel him stirring inside her again; a gentle swell of arousal starting to build.

“Again?” she asks, half-heartedly rocking her hips against his.

“Mmm,” he says, dropping his head back and meeting her movements. But his thrusts are sluggish and without intent, and she recognizes the bone utter exhaustion that’s keeping his muscles heavy and languid despite the undercurrents rebuilding between them.

No way can they go again.

Could they?

She tucks her head back against the crook of his neck and splays her fingers over his chest, feeling his steady heart beat under her palm. 

She’s lost track of how many times today.

Sam’s no medical doctor, but she’s pretty sure what they’re doing isn’t normal.

Isn’t physiologically possible.

It’s unnatural.

The thought is like a bucket of ice over her; and she stiffens a little as cold reality splashes into her thoughts. That familiar squeezing sensation wraps around her chest, and she draws a slow breath, trying to stay calm.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, hands gliding along her back again. 

“Nothing,” she lies, but the tightness is building, and as much as she’s drawn to him, she needs to get away. Needs to get some space. Needs clarity.

“Carter?”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

He lets her go without argument, but she can feel his concern follow her out of the room. It sticks to her in a way she knows  _ isn’t right _ .

For the first time since they started having sex, she pulls the door shut behind her.

* * *

It seems like it’s the longest they’ve gone in god-knows-how-long without having sex, and Jack feels like he’s in some bizarre sort of withdrawal. Since the moment Carter locked herself in the spare bathroom, he’s realized that as much as they’re both pretending to be okay, they’re not.

He stalks around the yard, desperate for something to do to keep his hands busy because they feel  _ empty _ without Carter nearby. The yard, however, is pristine, and there’s nothing for him to take his sudden frustration out on. A tree catches his eye, and he’s a little surprised to see the leaves have started to turn golden—when did that happen? When he was out here pruning a few days ago, there was no sign at all of fall approaching.

Casting his eyes around, he’s stunned to see more trees have started to change color. 

When he checks the date on his watch he frowns a little in consternation; surely it can’t have been almost two weeks?

He studies the yard more carefully and frowns.

How is it possible that he and Carter have locked themselves in his house for almost two weeks?

Sure, they’ve been a little distracted—okay, obsessed—with recent physical progression in their relationship, but how did they lose  _ two weeks _ ?

And what is Carter doing in the bathroom anyway? Why does she need to be in there that long? He’s getting worried about how long she’s been locked in there.

He stalks back inside, heading towards the bathroom, fully intent on banging on the door and demanding to be let in, when he stops himself.

What is he doing?

His hands twitch at his side, and he runs them restlessly through his hair, turning away and heading back to the kitchen. 

The fridge is empty. The garbage bin is full of takeout containers. There are crumbs all over his normally clean countertops, and a pile of dirty dishes is stacked by the sink. 

Wandering through the rest of the house, he’s surprised to see how cluttered and untidy it looks. 

What have they been doing for the last two weeks? Other than have lots of sex. Lots and lots of really  _ good _ sex, he concedes. 

By the time Carter finally emerges from the bathroom he’s got the kitchen and living room under control and is tackling the bedroom. He’s aware of her the second she leans against the door frame, but doesn’t stop tucking the fresh sheets into place.

“You good?” he asks, not looking at her.

“I think I need to see Doctor Fraiser,” is all she says instead.

“We’re scheduled to see her in a couple of days,” Jack points out, glad he’s now aware what day of the week it is.

“I need to see her tomorrow,” Carter says quietly. “Would you mind?”

There’s a definite tug of concern now, cutting between the confusion and other worries that have been circling through his mind.  “You don’t need to ask my permission, Carter.”

“No, I don’t,” she agrees. “But it means you have to go too.”

“Sure,” he says easily, hands pausing before they pick up the next pillow. “Is anything wrong?”

When he finally looks up at her, he’s a little disturbed by the look in her eye.

“I… I think we just need to get out for a bit.” Carter doesn’t normally fidget when she’s anxious, but he notices that right now she’s twisting her fingers together so tightly her knuckles are turning white. “Get some fresh air,” she adds when his silence drags a little too long.

He thinks that’s a great idea, but she’s still worrying him. “What’s wrong?”

“I just… this… doesn’t it feel like too much?”

He knows what she means. It’s terrifying how consumed he has been with her. Still is with her. How desperate he is to reach over and just touch her skin. It’s been hours since he touched her—his hands are aching for the feel of her.

“It’s getting stronger,” he agrees quietly, sitting on the bed. He pats the space beside him, and for an uncomfortable minute he thinks she’s going to stay away from him. But then she moves into the room and sits beside him, fitting easily under the arm that he wraps around her shoulders and tucking her head under his chin.

Everything that was wrong with his world suddenly feels right again; the tension and agitation and anxious feelings slipping away with the feel of her against him.

“We can’t live like this forever,” she says quietly, voice muffled against his chest.

To be honest, right now, he’s quite content living the rest of his life wrapped up in Sam Carter. The idea that it isn’t what she wants is painful but not exactly new to him—hell, she had a boyfriend before all this started—so he stays quiet, keeping his words in check.

“I mean physically,” she clarifies after a moment, reaching up and cupping his cheek with a soft hand. “This isn’t natural, sir. And I don’t think it’s even physically sustainable.”

“It’s exhausting,” he agrees, despite the rising tide of arousal he can feel building again when her lips brush against his neck. “But god it feels good.”

“It does,” she agrees softly, nipping at his skin.

Then she turns toward him, slipping a leg over his lap, and straddles him. She slides her hands under his shirt and scrapes her nails against his stomach; he sucks in an involuntary gasp at the sensation racing over his skin, burying his face against her neck and breathing her in.

The scent and feel of her fills some of the emptiness, soothing the ache that the distance between them had created.

He drags his hands along the smooth skin of her back and pulls her shirt up and over her head in one smooth movement. 

Dressed in a white cotton bra, a flush creeping over her chest, she’s more beautiful than he’s ever seen her. He wants to kiss her; to taste her lips and try to express what he feels for her in a way he can’t seem to be able to put into words. But she’s slid off his lap and got her hands on his belt buckle, and he’s never going to argue with Carter when she takes control. She makes quick work of the button on his jeans and pulls them off in a fluid movement. 

It only takes her seconds to shimmy out of her own shorts, and another second to reach behind and undo her bra; her breasts are round and full and he will never get enough of them. When she climbs back onto his lap he’s hard and ready for her, but instead of laying back when she presses on his shoulders he puts his hand on her waist to steady her for a moment as she hovers over him. He moves his hand across her hip and down between her legs; she’s hot and slick, a breathy groan slipping from her lips as his fingers slide into her. 

He keeps his fingers inside her, working them slowly in and out while his thumb joins the game to circle her clit. Her thighs on either side of his are trembling, fighting to stay in position over him, fingers digging sharply into his shoulders for balance, but he’s relentless, circling and flicking and teasing while she rocks her hips against his hand. She moans long and low. It’s an addictive sound.

He kisses a damp trail from her collarbone down to her breast, tasting her skin before drawing the sensitive nipple into his mouth. She groans again, thighs faltering a little as his teeth graze against her pebbled peak. The feel of her fingers scraping against his scalp while she holds him to her breast sends a flood of tingling racing down his spine.

“Oh, God,” she hisses, fingers clenching in his hair again. “Please,” she moans, head dropped back as he braces her with a hand between her shoulder blades. “Please, Jack. Please.”

He almost comes when she says his name, fingers faltering inside her while she grinds down on his hand, lost in her pleasure. He lets the nipple slide from his lips and kisses his way across her chest to her other breast, resuming the pressure with his fingers while she desperately rocks over him. 

She’s so close he can feel her walls starting to quiver against his fingers; with a final caress he pulls out slowly, leaving her empty and hanging. She stares down at him with dazed eyes, looking confused and disconcerted at his sudden retreat.

“Colonel?”

He worries at her nipple with his teeth, then laves it with his tongue; her fingers clench in his hair and her eyes fall closed again. 

“Look at me,” he says, releasing her breast and cupping her jaw with his hand. “Look at me, Carter.”

Her eyes open again; still dark and dazed with arousal. For a time he just stares at her, lost in her, until she makes a small noise of frustration in the back of her throat. 

And then she sinks down onto him slowly, eyes never leaving his, and something between them shifts just a little closer into place.

Their sighs are so deep that they’re practically groans as he slides further into her. They pause, and he savours the feeling of their skin pressed close together; he could drown in her and he’d welcome it. He rests his forehead against hers to find his control again in the wake of sensation slamming into him, and his face is close enough to hers to feel the warmth of her breath washing against his cheek.

He runs his thumbs over her bottom lip; her tongue brushes against his finger when she licks her lips. 

It’s everything he can do to stop himself from kissing her.

When she lifts herself up slowly it’s an agonizingly pleasurable test of his control; for a heartbeat his control fractures when she slides down over him again and he thrusts into her roughly. He’s buried so deep inside her he doesn’t think he’ll ever get out. Then she does it again, that slow, dragging movement, and the whole time her gaze never leaves his. The tension builds, and he recognizes the flames of pleasure licking along his veins.

“I’m close,” he rasps, fighting to keep still beneath her.

She rocks once more, twice more, and just before he comes he hears her telltale gasps and feels her tighten around him. His eyes slip shut as the white hot heat races through him while he jerks against her until the tremors subside. 

When he comes back to himself he can feel her fingernails are still digging into his back—he’s going to have marks judging by the sting—and he’s holding her so tightly against him he’s worried he’s hurting her. He eases his hold and turns to nuzzle the skin under her ear, pressing soft kisses there.

She sighs against him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck and making no effort to separate from him. Jack runs his hands up her back one more time before folding his arms around her and holding her close, dropping his head so his cheek rests against her hair. The peace and satiation doesn’t usually last long; the connection between them usually stirs and awakens the yearning that’s become his constant companion for the last few weeks shortly after climax. But right now, with her in the circle of his arms, the ache has receded temporarily and he savors the rare moment of contentment between them before it all unravels again.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos to the amazing Sarah_M for keeping things on track and being generally fabulous x

The closer they get to the SGC, the further away he can feel Carter pulling from him. He’s not entirely sure what’s changed in the last twenty four hours, but he thinks maybe it has something to do with a conversation they should have had weeks ago, instead of just screwing around in the dark.

Despite that knowledge, he still can’t find the words or way to begin a conversation he knows they should have, so he sits in silence beside her until they pull up at Cheyenne Mountain.

Somewhere between level fifteen and twenty one, he feels Carter’s hand slipping from his, and when he turns his head to look at the woman beside him, he finds Major Carter standing there, stiff and unyielding. The woman he’s been sharing his bed with the last few weeks seems to have disappeared.

When the doors slide open on level twenty one, he touches her shoulder gently. To his relief, she looks up at him and doesn’t move away from his touch.

“You going to be okay?”

She nods.

“I’m going to go talk to Hammond,” he says, letting his hand travel slowly down her arm and deliberately tangling his fingers with hers briefly. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, sir,” she says quietly. “I just… I need to talk to Janet.”

He nods and lets go of her, watching as she steps out of the elevator and then the doors slide shut behind her. He feels an irrational stab of panic as she disappears from his view, and he clenches his hands into fists to stop himself from hitting the button that would open the doors —it’s obvious Carter wants to talk to Fraiser on her own, but the thought of the separation is almost unbearable now.

Instead, Jack jabs the button for level twenty seven, and takes the next few minutes to get himself under control again. He tells himself that the sensation of pulling—of something being left behind—is all in his mind. Wasn’t it just a few short weeks ago that he and Carter had full range of this base without any problems?

Through the window, Jack can see Hammond talking on the phone, gesturing sharply with a familiar pinched expression on his face. Knowing better than to barge in, Jack waits until Hammond hangs up the phone and gives him a little longer to gather himself before rapping on the door. There’s a sharp, frustrated movement as Hammond looks up, but when he sees Jack his expression relaxes a little, and he motions for Jack to enter the room.

“I see things are going smoothly as ever,” Jack remarks when Hammond points at a chair.

“I didn’t think you were due in until the end of the week, Jack.”

“Carter wanted to see Fraiser,” Jack explains.

Hammond sighs. “Well, I’m glad you’ve come in today, Colonel.”

Jack raises an eyebrow at Hammond, an even mixture of surprise and unease growing at Hammond’s words. 

“What’s up, sir?”

Hammond sighs again and a heavy silence settles over them for a moment; Jack knows Hammond well enough to know that the man’s gathering his thoughts and that never bodes well to Jack’s way of thinking.

“General?” he asks, when Hammond fails to speak.

Hammond sighs again, seeming to brace himself before he speaks. “I’m receiving a lot of pressure from my superiors to make a final decision regarding yours and Major Carter’s situation, Colonel.”

It’s not exactly unexpected. Truthfully, it’s been months now since he and Carter were grounded without a clear plan of action to solve the problem. He knows Hammond’s on his side, but he’s also well aware of the pressures and politics circling over the SGC.

“I thought there was a decision to wait until we heard definitively from Thor before any final action was taken,” Jack says quietly, gently reminding Hammond of the very vague—and only—plan they have.

“We haven’t heard from either the Tok’ra or the Asgard for some time,” Hammond says regretfully. “Doctor Jackson has been running SG-13 ragged chasing any hints and suggestions of an idea, Colonel, but the truth is there doesn’t seem to be any concrete information or theories to try and pursue.”

“Yes, sir,” Jack says quietly.

“As much as I want to, I can’t keep expending resources on a slim chance that we find anything, Jack.”

“What if Carter and I could go off-world and-”

“No, Jack,” Hammond says quietly, with finality.

It was a stupid, half-formed idea anyway, with no real merit, but Hammond’s flat refusal ignites an unexpected rage in him; he struggles to resist the temptation to swipe out at Hammond’s desk in frustration. The anger catches him by surprise—he knows previously he and Carter were easily agitated and irritable the longer they were separated, but they’ve only just parted ways so how could his mood be so volatile so quickly? Or maybe it’s the frustration and guilt that instead of working on the problem and trying to find a solution they’ve just let two weeks pass by in a blissful haze of sexual pleasure with no apparent interest in finding a cure.

“We’re just… It’s very difficult sitting at home and not being involved,” Jack says finally, fighting to get his temper under control. It’s not Hammond’s fault things are falling apart between him and Carter, and it’s not Hammond’s fault they can’t seem to fix it.

“I know, Jack,” Hammond says gently. “And I’m sorry, but if we don’t hear from someone in the next two weeks, then I have orders to process yours and Major Carter’s medical discharges.”

The statement hangs heavy in the air between them. A medical discharge is not a new prospect to him, but it is an uncomfortable thought; he’s not really surprised at the instant denial that rises up sharply inside him. What is surprising though, is that it’s accompanied by what feels suspiciously like acceptance; a complex sense of relief and closure, as though Hammond’s announcement is offering him a solution to a problem he doesn’t fully comprehend yet. 

Why would he feel relief?

Because maybe it absolves him of the guilt he can’t help but feel for taking advantage of the situation. And taking advantage of Carter. 

There’s a sharp twist in his gut as the errant thought escapes through the normally rigid mental barriers he’s erected to try and avoid thinking too hard about their current situation.

“Jack?” Hammond asks cautiously, breaking into his thoughts.

Jack lets out a slow, deep breath. “I guess we could see it coming eventually.”

Hammond eyes him shrewdly, clearly concerned by Jack’s lack of protest against the idea. 

“You said it yourself, sir, we have no idea how to fix this. Carter’s stumped, and if she’s stumped I’m pretty sure that’s a sign that we may not be able to undo… _ this._”

“I’m a bit surprised you’re taking this so well, Jack.”

Jack allows a small huff of bemusement to escape, shrugging his shoulders a little and finally meeting Hammond’s gaze. “It’s not that I’m taking it _ well_, General. It’s just that I don’t see what our other options are right now.”

The truth is, he’s more terrified about the fact that he and Carter let two weeks slip by without even realizing it because they were so wrapped up in each other. When really, finding the answer to this problem should be their priority, not seeing how many times a day they can have sex. That alone tells Jack that neither of them are in any fit shape to take to the field—their sense of priority and judgement is clearly compromised.

And the fact that right now there’s a long-familiar throbbing settling behind his eyes is terrifying; he and Carter haven’t even been separated for ten minutes and already the headache is coming back. Some time in the last few weeks, when they weren’t paying attention, things have changed dramatically.

Maybe this is what Carter wants to talk to Fraiser about?

“We’re not giving up on you or Major Carter, Jack. I can assure you that.”

“But it’s no longer going to be an active mission priority,” Jack says with a nod of understanding, and trying to ignore the worry that this is spelling the formal end of a search for a cure, and the last chance they have to try and fix it. The finality of his agreement, and his lack of protest, feels strange and surreal. He only hopes Carter accepts this as easily, but someone he can’t see that happening. 

“I know this is not what you wanted to hear, Jack. I’m sorry son.”

“That’s too bad, General,” Jack says quietly. “Because I think things are getting worse for us.”

* * *

The infirmary is quieter than Sam’s seen it in a while, all the cubicles empty with neatly made beds. She almost walks into Janet as she turns the corner into the large room. 

“Sam! I didn’t think you were scheduled for a visit today, were you?”

“Is this a good time?” Sam asks, ignoring Janet’s question.

“As good as any,” Janet says easily. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure,” Sam admits, trying to muster up a smile but failing miserably. 

“This way,” Janet says, eyes narrowing with concern as she places a hand on Sam’s arm. “Let’s go talk in my office.”

She takes her usual seat in Janet’s office, watching as her friend grabs some fresh cups and pours a generous amount of coffee into them before taking a seat at her desk. 

“Now,” Janet says. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I think the connection is getting stronger.”

“Yes, you mentioned this a little while ago.”

“No,” Sam says, shaking her head a little to try and clear it. “It’s different.”

“Is this something we need to be concerned about?” Janet asks, worry creeping onto her voice.

“I think so,” Sam admits. “But I don’t know what we can do about it.”

“How have things changed?”

Sam struggles to find the words to explain just how consumed they have been with each other. The way they can’t keep their hands off each other, but never talk to each other. The way they’ve lost track of time and the weeks have just disappeared without them even realizing. 

She’s terrified she’s losing herself somehow; that all that matters now is this obsession with the Colonel. And she’s petrified at the idea that even though this connection seems to be getting stronger, she seems to think about it or worry about it less and less each day.

“I don’t… I don’t even know how to explain it,” Sam says finally. Because she’s always able to explain things, her inability to verbalize this is even more concerning.

“Just try,” Janet encourages.

“It’s… it’s awkward.” Sam says eventually, rubbing her hands over her face to try and settle some of the heat she can feel settling there. God, how to tell Janet that she’s thrown the rule book out the window and is sleeping with her former commanding officer? Even if Janet was the one to encourage her...

Janet leans back in her chair, looking knowingly at Sam. “You’re sleeping together, aren’t you?”

“You already knew that.” Since when has she gotten so good at avoiding answering questions?

“But you’re having sex now.”

It’s one thing to dance around the discussion with the Colonel in the privacy of his home; it’s a completely different thing when Janet announces it in the SGC.

“Janet!”

“But you are, aren’t you?”

Sam feels the heat increase on her cheeks and studiously avoids meeting Janet’s eyes. “Yes. Which, by the way, was your idea.”

And since they started having sex things have started changing dramatically. The complete lack of awareness of the outside world. Their genuine inability to keep their hands off each other. The overwhelming desire to try and crawl inside each other. To be as close together as physically possible, with nothing else seeming to matter anymore.

Was it the sex that changed everything, or was sex simply the next, inevitable step of this transformation?

“Sam?” Janet’s voice breaks into her thoughts. 

Sam sighs, sips her coffee, and then asks, “Is there such a thing as too much sex?”

Janet’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the question. “What do you mean?”

“This going to seem like a weird thing to worry about, but all we do all day long is have sex.”

Sam tries not to feel annoyed when Janet’s lips twitch. “Really?”

“Yeah.” 

“All day long?”

“And all night,” Sam feels obliged to offer. 

“Is it good sex?”

“It’s great sex.”

“And this is what you’re worried about? Sam, please, I can’t even remember the last time I had sex, let alone good sex. As far as I’m concerned, there is no such thing as too much good sex.” 

“I’m worried that we’re having too much,” Sam insists. “It is literally all we do.”

“How often are we talking?”

“Maybe five, six times a day.”

Janet blinks.

“And then maybe a few more times overnight.”

Okay, if she’s honest, Sam’s a little gratified by the way Janet is staring at her. 

“That’s…”

“Exhausting,” Sam says emphatically. “I mean, it’s great sex. Amazing, actually. I’d even call it the best sex of my life. But it’s so constant, and even when I don’t want to feel like it, it’s like I can’t help myself. And neither can he.”

“It does seem excessive,” Janet agrees slowly, frowning a little and tilting her head to the side. “And it shouldn’t be physiologically possible, particularly not at his age.”

Sam snorts. “It’s very much possible, Janet.”

“Recovery time alone for him shouldn’t allow it. Are you sure you aren’t exaggerating, Sam?”

“Why would I be?” 

“Okay, it’s definitely a lot,” Janet says thoughtfully. “I assume you’re thinking it’s the connection facilitating all the… activity.” 

“Maybe,” Sam hedges, trying hard to contain her frustration and worries from spilling over. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what we’re doing.”

“How does he feel about it?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says helplessly. “We don’t talk about it.”

“You don’t talk about the fact that you’re having sex?”

When Janet puts it like that, it seems kind of ridiculous to not have discussed it. 

“No,” Sam admits, biting her lip.

“Sam.”

“It’s going to sound strange, Janet, but even though we’re physically close, and have this connection to each other's emotional state, in some ways it actually feels like we’re more distant than we’ve ever been.”

“What do you mean?” Janet asks, the concern on her voice makes it hard for Sam to keep her emotions in check. 

Sam shrugs, searching for the right words. “Before this, we were friends. Now it’s like all we do is have sex, and then just exist in silence while we wait for the next round of sex. Nothing matters but the next time, you know?”

“Physical intimacy without the emotional intimacy?”

As usual, Janet manages to succinctly hit the nail on the head. 

“Exactly! Somehow it feels like there’s almost no intimacy between us, other than physically now.”

“Have you talked about this?”

Sam stares at her.

“Okay. Dumb question,” Janet concedes, and then sighs. “Sam, I don’t think you’re going to move forward or be happy unless the two of you start actually _ talking _ about things.”

“I just… I fully intend to talk to him and then… I just don’t.”

“Why not?”

Because it matters too much. Because she’s terrified to discover that it’s all down to this connection, and she missed the boat years ago with his feelings. Because she’s not sure she could survive if this didn’t mean as much to him as it does to her. 

Sam sighs, closing her eyes and rubbing at her temples; there’s a dull headache building, something she hasn’t felt for weeks since she moved in with the Colonel. She doesn’t remember them starting this quickly before. 

“I don’t know what to say to him,” she says eventually, opening her eyes and looking at Janet.

“Why not?”

“It’s this whole situation,” she says. “It’s forced this relationship between us. This completely physical, sexual connection. While it’s great in some ways, I feel like somehow I’ve lost sight of _ him._ That this isn’t about _ us_. That it’s just … an artificial link.”

“Do you really think that’s true, Sam?”

Sam picks up a teaspoon and stirs aimlessly at liquid in her cup. “I don’t know,” she says bleakly. “I don’t even know how I feel anymore.” She swallows down the lump forming in her throat. “All I know is when I’m with him, it’s like _ I _ stop existing, and all that matters is getting as close to him as I physically can.”

Because the understanding and worry in Janet’s gaze is so genuine, Sam finds she has to break eye contact and find something else to keep her hands busy. Silence settles between them as Sam focuses on her cup of coffee, takes a sip of the bitter, tepid liquid. She puts the cup back down, running her fingers over the rim anxiously before Janet starts to speak again. 

“Do you spend any time apart?”

“No.”

“Do you think maybe you should?”

“Yes.” But something inside her twists at the thought of spending more time apart. She misses him now, and they haven’t even been apart for long at all; how could she handle the thought of him actually being somewhere else completely? Never mind the headache that seems to be growing faster than ever.

Tiredly, she rubs at her forehead, willing the ache to go away. 

“Headache?” Janet asks astutely.

“It’s starting again.” She closes her eyes and rests her head in her hands.

“That was fast.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I think it started not long after I left the Colonel.”

“Where is he now?”

“Talking to General Hammond.”

“How often have you been getting headaches?” Janet asks, and Sam can see her hands are itching to examine her.

“This is the first headache I’ve had in weeks,” Sam says, shaking her head. “But it’s also the first time in weeks we’ve been this far apart.”

The look of worry on Janet’s face echoes her own fears, and she tries hard to ignore the terror clawing at her, fighting to be let out. 

“You don’t seem surprised by this,” Janet says.

“I’m not,” Sam admits. “I think we’ve both been aware things were changing, and that our limits were decreasing, but…”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Janet asks, frustration threading her words. “If things have changed this much between you, that you can’t even spend this much time apart, that’s very concerning Sam.”

Sam grimaces a little, pressing her lips together before shrugging in defeat. “There’s nothing anyone can do, Janet. It’s nothing we can change. What difference does it make?”

“But Sam, what if-”

“I know, Janet,” Sam interrupts. “Believe me, I know.”

The last thing she wants is for Janet to verbalize the fears building inside her, to acknowledge the reality that Sam’s scared is already chasing them. The fact that now she and the Colonel can’t separate for even ten minutes without the headache returning is alarming; when does this all stop? Will they need to spend every single moment for the rest of their lives in close contact? And what happens if _ that’s _ not enough?

“Does the Colonel know how much things have changed?” Janet asks quietly.

“I’m sure he has some idea,” Sam says, knowing full well what Janet’s going to say to the next words out of her mouth. “But we haven’t really discussed it.”

“Sam, you need to start talking to him.”

“I know,” Sam agrees, frowning and rubbing at her forehead again. “I know. It’s just… how do we talk about the fact that this might be killing us?”

“You just say it,” Janet says. 

“And what do we do about it?” Sam asks tiredly. “Even if we talk about it, we can’t change it.”

“How bad is the headache?” Janet asks.

“Bad enough.” As the words pass her lips, there’s a slight easing of the pressure. “But the Colonel’s on his way here now.”

“Have you thought about maybe trying to build some tolerance?” Janet suggests.

“What, like try to wean ourselves from each other?”

Janet shrugs. “Or just try to back off the physical contact a little.”

Despite the worry and the fears lurking, Sam’s mouth twitches. “You want us to have less sex.”

“Well,” Janet says, a small smile crossing her lips. “It’s not fair if not everyone’s having some.”

“We can try,” Sam says doubtfully. 

“It might not make a difference, but what if it does?”

Given the amount of time they’ve been spending going at it, Sam’s not entirely convinced that she or the Colonel will be particularly successful at keeping their hands off each other as soon as they’re in close proximity again. “I don’t know if we’ll manage that,” Sam says frankly as she gets to her feet.

“Maybe you should do something fun,” Janet suggests, also standing up. “Something you both enjoy.”

“We both enjoy sex,” Sam says, because she can’t help herself. 

“Something other than sex. Like a date. Where you are forced to talk to each other.”

“Dates usually involve sex.”

Janet rolls her eyes, smiling broadly now. “Go on a hike or something. Somewhere in public so you _ can’t _ have sex.”

She’s opening her mouth to make a smart remark back to Janet when there’s a light tapping at the office door followed by the Colonel peering around the frame.

“Miss me?” he asks with a quick smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

The connection between them hums, and she moves closer to him, drawn to his side even as steps towards her. He wraps his arm around her shoulders as she rests her against his chin, revelling in his closeness and the sense of comfort it brings her anxious thoughts. Standing this close to him the throbbing headache once again starts to ease as she breathes in his scent and sinks into the feel of him surrounding her.

It takes her a few seconds of savouring his presence before she remembers she’s standing in Janet’s office, in the SGC, snuggling with Colonel O’Neill as though they’re a regular couple. She swallows roughly and reluctantly separates from him a little to maintain some dignity—but not so far that he can’t keep his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

When she meets Janet’s considering gaze, she sighs.

“Let me examine you both,” Janet says. “I don’t like how much things have changed so quickly.”

“I knew this would happen,” the Colonel mutters as they follow Janet out of her office.

“Sorry,” Sam murmurs.

He drops an easy kiss to her hair, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they’re in the infirmary where anyone could see them. “Let’s just get this over with so we can go home.”


End file.
